Behind the Beaded Curtain
by dragoon811
Summary: "So this is where it's all coming from." - And with that sentence, our favourite duo have a mystery to solve while they realise their feelings for each other. (COMPLETE)
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note** : I know, I should be working on Guilt and a Smile, and I am, truly, but I've been working on this little bastard of a fic since 2013. It is nearly fully-written, and today, the 11th, is my birthday so I thought that to celebrate I would start posting a new fic so you can all join me in the giggling.  
Thanks much to Tyche Song for her help renaming this, since the working title was "Man with a Silken Schlong" and Fanfiction likes to asterisk that out. (Silly site.)  
I intend to post a chapter every week to two weeks, so we shall see how that goes.  
This fic will touch on adult topics and poke a bit of fun at bad smut, and may contain sex. If you're underaged and reading this, it's on your head not mine. As always, I don't own Snape or Hermione or the Harry Potter world, I'm just playing with them. ;)  
I don't understand where my brain gets these things. But, here we are. Without much more ado, please enjoy "Behind the Beaded Curtain"! :)

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

There had to be a mistake, Severus thought as he chased the sixth year boy who'd tossed a Dungbomb onto the other chaperoning professor behind the rather garishly-colored beaded curtain.

Yes, a tragic, horrible mistake. He'd somehow inhaled a hallucinatory powder, or perhaps had been stunned by a blow to the back of the head, and he'd deal with the party responsible just as soon as he managed to exit this – this... Bloody hell, when had Puddifoot's gotten a back room, let alone begun to stock such a sordid collection? A clerk emerged from a supply room, squeaked in terror at the sight of him, and wisely fled.

There couldn't be a back room here. No, there couldn't. Really. He _had_ to be imagining things, brought on by all the doe eyes and sighs from of-age girls (and some boys) since his reluctant return to teaching the previous fall despite gratefully spending the six previous years in peaceful-yet-boring near-obscurity.

Because, really... there was no way that Madame Puddifoot's tea shoppe stocked a back room of sex toys, sex paraphernalia, and – gingerly, he selected one booklet, flipped through it, and grimaced – some of the worst-written attempts at pornography he'd ever seen.

Starring him, if the large, oversized black phallus on display labeled as 'Bestseller - The Snape!' was any indication. Or the small charmed 'Pocket Professor' vibrator, advertising utter discretion. Or the stack of absurdly-titled stories. Or the – bloody hell, he would _murder_ whoever was responsible. No wonder the sixth and seventh year girls kept throwing themselves at him!

Severus Snape had wondered why, just why, the students didn't fear him properly. Feeling more justified than ever in blaming Potter for his new-found fame as a dark spy and brooding hero, he tossed down the copy of "From Dungeons With Love", then pinched the bridge of his nose. He could just _feel_ the migraine coming on.

He never should have let Minerva coerce him into chaperoning this trip to Hogsmeade. Never. Hadn't that been part of his contract, that he'd do no such thing? But of course, she had to tell him that if he didn't, Professor Granger – who he had, admittedly, become friends of a sort with over the past year, if only through the chit's own tenacity – would be forced to do so on her own.

'Didn't they all know how difficult chaperone duties were this close to the Holiday break?' Minerva had asked. 'Surely one weekend wouldn't be too terrible.' And 'it would be a shame if she had to ask one of her other friends to keep her, Hermione, company'. The witch had kept on that vein until he finally crumbled. Damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her.

At least now he knew, he thought, trying to find the only bright spot. And perhaps he could stop it. Forcing his mouth closed, he examined more of the titles, seeking author names. "Silvertongue"- no author. "Professor YES!" - still no author. "Spy Another Day" (featuring a crudely-drawn profile of himself peering into what appeared to be a bathroom) – also no author. And nor did "Man with a Silken Schlong". None of the damn stories had authors!

And they were all terribly written. He didn't even recognise the writing style, so hopefully they were not being written by any of his current students, but still. He was not hiding a "cut body" under his robes, and while he was satisfied with the size of his equipment, he certainly did not have as monstrous a tool as the displayed phallus.

He looked down at the book. _'Profesor Snape tugged me down to the desk, his huge basilisk hanging out of his trousers next to his fuzzy orbs. With a silky growl, he ripes of my knickers and I cum hard, squirting across all the essays as he beared my skin to the air of the room.'_

Merlin, this was bad. The beaded curtain clacked behind him, and he swung around with a growl just as the sixth-year darted out.

"Devons, get back here!" Severus stalked towards the door but ran into Granger. Hermione. Professor. Only...she was two-dimensional and wearing something he would never, _ever_ imagine her wearing.

"Bloody hell," he muttered, and finally gave the rest of the room a look. It staggered him. Why the _hell_ was this all here? And so close to the bloody school?

"Severus?" came Hermione's voice.

"Back here," he said faintly.

"Did you catch – oh, my." She faltered and looked around. "So this is where it's all coming from."

"You knew?" His brows drew together with a thunderous expression.

"Mmm. Certainly explains the age line I crossed." Severus cursed his distraction – he hadn't even noticed crossing the faintly-glowing line. "This is...a lot more extensive than anticipated."

She turned around to look at the line again, and glared at the mock-up of herself. "Oh, Merlin, really?! I would never wear that atrocity!"

"Thank Merlin for small favors," Severus managed, heart pounding at the thought. "Some of us would like to retain their vision without burning that image into their brains."

A look of hurt crossed her features before she snorted, scanning the "literature" on display. "What _I_ can't believe is that it's all themed – you're a right James Bond, mister 'Potions are for Always'. God, these are horrible... I've been reduced to a bloody princess trapped in a castle by the look of these costumes..."

"Potter seems to fare little better," he said, gesturing at the display before she could actually start to read aloud titles of the sure-to-be-pathetic tales starring her.

Hermione laughed, patting a red-and-gold dildo adorned with 'lightning-shaped ridges for your pleasure' with far too much familiarity for his comfort. "Poor Harry! Let's see, more books – 'Harry Potter and the Pussy of Pleasure', oh, I'm going to tell him, this is ridiculous! 'Harry Potter and the Last Orgasm'..."

Grimacing, Severus forced her to put down the phallus, wiping his hand on his robe immediately after. "Would you please desist from fondling the merchandise, Professor?"

She grinned, ignoring him. "Oh, I _really_ should tell Ginny about 'Auror Weasley: The Pink Pussy' and 'The Return of Pink Pussy'... Or George. They'll never let Ron live it down!"

"You should be outraged," he hissed.

Brown eyes turned to him, full-force. "Oh, but I _am_ , Severus."

"You certainly do not act as if you are angry at the products around us, that your _students_ are fantasizing to your image."

Hermione sighed and fingered a scandalously-short "Gryffindor Princess" costume. "They were doing it long before someone tried to cash in on it – why do you think I started spending so much time with you? You had the right bloody idea, and are better company than most people I deal with."

She barely gave him a moment to process that before continuing. "And as much as I'd like to get to the bottom of this travesty of the written word, we should go back to the students; preferably before Devons reports where we are, they flee, and we find ourselves playing find-the-students until dark."

"Indeed." He held the curtain back for her, and scowled as the products' wards protected them from a well-aimed Incendio. "Bugger."

At least gathering up all the little miscreants wasn't too difficult, and soon they trailed behind the children, watching for attempts at straggling on the road back to Hogwarts. The air was brisk, the snow wet, and he was glad of his customary boots. Hermione, on the other hand, was mincing through the snow in impractical-looking shoes. Then again, she wasn't a dunderhead, and had likely charmed them.

"Severus?" Her soft voice broke his reverie.

He glanced down at her, eyebrow raised, breath steaming.

"Thank you for chaperoning with me today." That warranted her a scowl, but she just grinned cheekily at him, cheeks pink with cold. "Would you like to stop by later, after dinner?"

The snow crunched under their feet, and he glared at a fourth-year attempting to drop a Chocolate Frog wrapper on the side of the path. The girl paled, clutched the wrapper, then plunged it into a pocket before fleeing to the relative safety provided by her friends.

"Perhaps." He considered the notion; an evening with Hermione was far from unpleasant. "Hermione, if I may pry -"

"Never stopped you before, but at least you're asking."

"What did you mean, 'they were doing it long before'?"

"Oi! Ackerman! No snogging – keep walking!" she shouted before giving him an exasperated look. "Honestly...In any case, it quickly became apparent that being in the public eye meant that people thought that we were fair game. Stalkers, love letters, hate mail, lascivious letters of erotic intent towards my person – I got all of it. It was horrible. I'm actually happy about that filthy little line of products, if only because it's giving people an outlet that's not directly me."

He pondered this.

"That's probably how I ended up in a church with Ron," she muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Surprised colored his tone and she flushed. "Don't tell me you _married_ that freckled imbecile." Surely he would have known if she'd done such a foolish thing? He'd been subsisting on hope that she was free for so long...

Hermione scowled. "He's not _that_ bad, Severus. And, no, I didn't. You don't see a ring, do you? I almost did, but thank god for Ron and his big mouth. I got to the end of the bloody aisle and he blurts out, 'I can't do this!' I nearly fainted from sheer relief."

"You're not a witch to, pardon the expression, given the topic, 'lie back and take it'. Why did you simply not end the relationship?"

"Have _you_ ever tried to cross Molly Weasley?" He flinched. Yes, yes he had. "It was so easy to stay with Ron – we got horribly romanticised, and it was...safe, I suppose, even if we did bicker all the time. We had rows over the stupidest things. I'm glad he was able to call it off. Molly was only accepting because her baby boy was the one to end it." She rolled her eyes. "Things were strained but fine after that, but then the mail started again."

"Indeed," he murmured. "All of my mail is routed through the Owl Post in Hogsmeade, and brought by my own owl. If a letter is not from a known acquaintance, a parent, or for business, it simply remains there to rot."

"I should do that," she muttered darkly. "But then I would lose my kindling in the winter."

Severus barked a laugh, causing students to turn in fear. Snape laughing was never a good sign.

"You could simply collect that lurid excuse for pornography and burn it," he suggested. Hermione giggled behind her gloved hand. The castle was looming into view, students quickening their pace at the promise of warm fires and hot tea in their respective common rooms.

"I could at that. You should see some of them – apparently, you're a sex god with a 12-inch cock and have girls coming all over the place just by sneering at them. Meanwhile, I'm always a virgin and I go around squirting at the slightest touch." She sounded disgusted. "I swear, none of the authors have ever had sex, let alone bothered to do any research on basic anatomy."

Recognising the signs of a brewing tirade, he intervened. "An hour or so after dinner, then? In your quarters? I did finish the last book you lent me, and would be happy to return it."

"Oh!" She smiled, tirade blessedly averted. "Yes, that would be lovely, thank you. Did you have a chance to read the journal you got last week? I'm dying for a read, but they only offer subscriptions to Potion Masters, and there's supposed to be an article on Charms in Potions that -"

"I'll bring it." He cut her off. He'd already read the article and found it fascinating. Filius had been asking to borrow it all week, and he'd been steadfastly refusing.

"Thank you." She looked at him from under her lashes, and he looked away, cravat feeling uncomfortably tight as it always did when she looked at him in such a way. In other words, too often. "You know the password, just come on in, in case I get caught answering questions for Everly."

He snorted. "That Ravenclaw is almost as bad as you were."

"Oh, I still am that bad," she said. "It almost makes me sorry about my days as a student... but only almost."

"Indeed. Oh, sod it, not again -" Severus swooped away from her, his winter cloak billowing after him as he descended upon the hapless students. "Ackerman, I believe that both Professor Granger and myself have expressed to you that there is to be no snogging of Mister Bladswell. As you seem to be incapable of comprehension of basic decorum on an outing whilst being representatives of our school, I shall have to resort to separation. You shall both report to detention this evening immediately after dinner. Bladswell, you shall be meeting with Hagrid. Mister Ackerman, I believe Mr. Filch will be expecting you. Bring your toothbrush."

He exchanged a pained look with Hermione, who was pulling her wand to draw the attention of Miss Robine and Mister Bicker of Hufflepuff with a series of sparks.

"You two are _Prefects_ ," she told them coldly. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff – apiece! - for snogging in the hall, instead of guiding your Housemates to their common room. Get going before I make it detention!"

Once all the students were safely in the castle and heading back to their rooms, Devons having long-escaped, not that he would avoid punishment altogether once term resumed, Hermione buried her face in her hands.

"Merlin save me from adolescent hormones," she moaned. "Was I ever this bad?"

"You? No. Weasley, however, seemed to prefer public venues for his libidinous behavior. I never caught Potter at it, however."

"Not for lack of trying, I'm sure. I caught him, twice." That earned her an eyebrow. "I only gave him a warning, but the second time, I took points off him; I don't think he'd expected me to but I did, and I never caught him again. Not sure if he just hid better, or if he actually learned."

"I would wager the former." He pulled his pocket watch from his frock coat. "I should return to the dungeons, ensure my charges have all returned to their own House."

"Alright. See you at dinner?"

Nodding curtly, he strode off for the dungeons, pulse hammering in his ears. He hadn't spent so much time with her since the summer months, and had forgotten how to act like himself. Cursing himself for laughing in front of the students, he quickened his pace. Damn, damn, and triple damn! He was acting the besotted fool. At this rate, he'd be pouring out his feelings on Valentine's Day, bedecked in pink like bloody Lockhart.

Maybe it would deter the daft buggers from buying that tripe.

Then again, probably not.

* * *

Hermione watched him go, teeth worrying the corner of her lower lip. Bugger. Had she put her foot in it already? Ever since Minerva had convinced him to return to Hogwarts, she'd had more and more difficulty masking how taken she was with him. She'd already been teaching for four terms (having apprenticed herself to Minerva for the previous two years, whiling away her weekends with Ron and Harry at first, and later visiting Severus in his little cottage asking about Potions and whatever else she could think of) when he finally acceded to the Headmistress's pleas and replaced Slughorn.

After all the problems with Ron, she'd spent more and more time in Severus's company. It had begun because he didn't seem to mind her and he was intelligent and quiet. After the end of her ill-fated engagement, however, something had changed for her. Severus Snape stopped being a fellow Order member and a source of intellectual conversation. He was clever and acerbic and funny... and she liked him. She had found it easy to hide her feelings for a weekend visit, but then... Severus had come to the school like a surly thundercloud, snapping and snarling and everyone going right back to hating him when he'd been so vaunted while he'd stayed away.

Of course, the hatred of him had immediately prompted Hermione's championing instincts to try to talk to him in public, which he'd hated. The man had been incredibly stubborn, preferring to keep their pseudo-friendship in the off-months "where it belonged"; but then, she was stubborn too, and she figured that if Minerva could wear him down, so bloody well could she. Six months of sitting next to him without so much as a "pass the salt, Granger" or a "good morning" and she'd somehow gotten it across to him that she wasn't really going to force him to display their friendship in front of the students, and he'd grumpily given up trying to scare her away from his office and chambers, followed by actual conversation at meal times that had led to their current closeness.

Honestly, the man could be such a thorn in her side. He tolerated her perfectly well when she'd visited him as long as she'd been quiet and hadn't let her "mad hair" get in any of his brews. Severus had even let her call him her friend – at the very least, he hadn't refuted it, which was tantamount to permission.

But what she _hadn't_ intended on was that over the course of her shy attempts at friendship, getting used to his barbs and prickles, arguing with him over silly theorems, or trying to out-do him on the Prophet crossword, she'd fallen for him. Hard. The man was brilliant, with a quick wit and a good heart, and when she wrested a smile from him it made her whole damn week.

He had a beautiful smile.

She oscillated now between trying to spend as much time with him as possible, then panicking that he'd notice and reject her that she avoided him with carefully-crafted excuses that lasted a day or two at most. She was too smitten to deny herself the pleasure of his company much longer than that. Oh, she knew he tolerated her, and while he rarely sought her ought, he accepted her company when it was offered, which was more than she could say about the rest of the staff. He kept them all at arm's length, except maybe for Irma, who didn't care what he did as long as he returned his books on time and in the same condition as when he'd borrowed them.

And he had a nice bum.

Not that she'd seen it. Not really. Just the outline of it under his trousers...

Chewing her lip a little more, she judged the time between now and dinner – if she hurried, she could make it to Hogsmeade and back. He'd never find out she'd bought a Pocket Professor, and the thought of a vibrator that worked within the walls of Hogwarts was tempting.

Very, very tempting.

Sod it all, she could make it if she ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Birthday Bonus – chapter two! That's all you get for now lol.

* * *

 **Chapter 2**

Hermione came to dinner, cheeks flushed and a bit mussed. Severus forced himself to look away and to continue lifting his fork to his mouth. What the devil had she been doing? She – panic gripped his chest – she didn't have a paramour, did she? Wouldn't he know?

Well, he hadn't known she'd gotten so far with Weasley, had he? Calmly waving a hand for her chair to scoot out with a scrape on wood on flagstones, Severus continued eating calmly despite his racing mind. When would she have time? She only ever seemed to be in the castle or with him, and he highly doubted that she'd take up with a student. Merlin forbid, was she sneaking someone in? He'd have to patrol the corridors by her rooms more frequently. Perhaps a few monitoring charms wouldn't be amiss...

Completely unaware of her dinner partner's thoughts, Hermione slid into her seat next to Severus, hoping she didn't look too disheveled. As it had turned out she'd not only had ample time to run to Hogsmeade and back, but she'd caved to the temptation to use the bloody 'Pocket Professor'.

And it had been marvelous. It had been so long since she'd used a toy, and something that worked within Hogwarts's walls? Wonderful. Knowing it was crafted with Severus in mind? Fantastic. Lying in her quarters, fingers buried inside her with the little toy buzzing against her clit, thinking of the taciturn man dwelling in the dungeons, and knowing she'd see him that night? Phenomenal. She'd shattered, sweaty and flushed as she lay there panting.

It'd taken all of her remaining time before dinner to wash her face and hands, change her knickers, then clean and hide the toy—not that he'd be likely to wander into her bedroom, but why risk it?—then race down.

She was ravenous now, smiling at his small courtesy of the chair and reaching for the goblet of chilled water.

"You're late," Severus muttered, pushing the platter of roast closer to her.

"Sorry," she whispered back as she set the glass back down and gratefully began heaping food on her plate. He made that indeterminate little shrug of his shoulders that he did when he tried to avoid acting like he was concerned. The first time she'd seen it had been when she'd gone to visit her parents for a weekend and hadn't told him because she honestly hadn't thought he'd miss her sleeping on his couch when she had lost track of time arguing with him and was too tired to Apparate safely.

He had.

Maybe it was just the lovely and long-overdue orgasm, but she was so glad that tonight's meal was a hearty one. Or maybe it was all the walking in the brisk December air. Or both. Yes, likely both.

"Hungry?" Came the drawled inquiry from Severus, and she flushed again, realising she was on her third plate.

"Yes, actually." Hermione forced herself to reach for her drink.

"Perhaps tonight you should provide those tea things of which you are so fond." Hermione doubted anyone else would notice the slight grimace he gave at the suggestion.

She smiled. Daft man. Severus never ate more at a meal than a single serving, but seemed to be almost continually hungry if the constant stream of sandwiches on his desk were any indication. Either that, or the elves were still crusading to fatten his lean frame despite years of it, well, not working. Doubtful, as she thought the waste of uneaten food would outweigh any need to feed him. Therefore, Severus ate them all. When she'd visited with him in the past, he'd eaten heartily without any reservation – but only in the privacy of his own home or rooms.

Wondering if his need to moderate his public intake of nutrition stemmed from his past or just what she had been discovering was his natural shyness, Hermione didn't realise that he was waiting for her to reply.

"Sorry." She flushed again. She'd have to stop spacing out around him, or he'd begin to suspect something was amiss, and it wouldn't take Severus very long to discover her feelings, destroying their friendship entirely. "Yes, I'll have a tea tray for us. You won't forget the journal, will you?"

"Of course not." Severus rolled his eyes, pushing his plate away from his setting so the magic would whisk it away. _Silly girl_. Of course he would bring it. Had he ever forgotten to deliver her a book or article that would catch her interest?

Glancing up, he noticed three Ravenclaw girls staring at him and he sneered at them.

They tittered; he glowered.

They blushed and ducked their heads down to discuss his apparent interest in them.

 _Merlin's saggy testicles! I am going to gladly spend my life in Azkaban once I discover just who is responsible for that curtained back room and murder them._

A sweep of the other House tables showed several students staring at either himself or Hermione with lovelorn expressions.

 _That's it_. Angered, he rose despite Hermione's confused question and strode from the hall. By time he reached his quarters he'd taken points off some snogging sixth-year Slytherins in the corridors, and confiscated three "illicit materials" from some starstruck Hufflepuff seventh-year who'd attempted to throw herself at him just outside his quarters.

At least the pitiful excuse for erotic literature would give him a starting point to trace its origins, he mused, sinking into his desk chair and idly plucking a sandwich from the tray. The books, if he could call them that, were poorly-bound, printed on cheap paper. He sneered at one, holding it gingerly, as if the material inside could contaminate him with poor grammar and he'd end up misspelling "terrible" on his next grading commentary.

His lip curled as he browsed the stories, looking for clues—watermarks of the printer, anything. Nothing. Not even a publishing house.

And all three were horrible. One was about Hermione—definitely painted as a helpless princess and clearly written by a man—and two were of himself, one of which definitely a woman's work. The idea of another man desiring him was a bit odd to him—hell, being desired by _anyone_ was a new and now unwelcome revelation.

He glanced at the clock. Half an hour until he was due at Hermione's rooms, and he'd like to make some progress on the damn books before then. And he still would have to surreptitiously seek out some sign that she had a beau. And then poison the meaty-handed shit.

It was strange—while growing up, he'd longed to be wanted and desired, and he still did, to some extent, but he was very selective about who he wanted to be desired by: namely, Hermione. But now... he was apparently seen as a fantasy object by dozens if not hundreds of witches and wizards and he was quite emphatically uncomfortable with it.

Being viewed as merely a sex object! It was degrading! Humiliating! Were his students spending more time on imagining his cock rather than their homework? It certainly explained the meteoric rise in melted cauldrons and explosions.

And here he'd thought the little bastards were _trying_ to get him fired by recklessly causing trouble in the classroom.

No—they were just too busy ogling his arse and fantasizing about detention! Which, no matter what the blighters thought, was punishment of the non-sexual variety. It made him shudder to think of...of sex with a _student_. It was utterly repulsive. They were children under his care! Children!

All fifth years and up were getting surprise tests immediately following the holidays, he decided. And more homework before the break. _Let them all suffer._

* * *

A sharp knock came at her door at promptly seven-thirty, and Hermione smiled, wiping sweaty palms against her robes as she crossed the room to allow him entry, and he barreled past her, scowling. "Well hello to you, too, Severus!"

"Shut the damn door before they accost me again," he snapped. "Apparently the knowledge of our discovery has reached student ears and it is now open season to ensnare at least one of us rather than being appropriately chagrined. Minerva will be lucky if she can scrape that third year off the ceiling."

"Oh, you didn't -" Despite her concern she could feel the corners of her lips twitching upwards. Just a bit.

"Hang him up there by his ankles? Of course I did. I just didn't realise the ceiling was quite so high." The words were ground out through clenched teeth as he dropped a stack of shoddy paperbacks on her small sitting room table and began pacing, jaw twitching.

"How many?" Hermione asked sympathetically.

"Eight," he growled, followed by a string of what she guessed was obscenities by the vehemence, but clearly in Latin.

"Alright, let's just calm down, Severus..." He shrugged her hand off of his arm, but sat heavily in the squashy armchair, crossing his arms over his chest as he fumed. "Tea?"

His head jerked in a nod, and she fixed him a cup, which he unbent enough to accept, along with a small plate of sandwiches. The little petit fours on the tea tray made his lips twitch—she remembered he liked them? Or were they her favorite, too?

"I hate this chair," he muttered. "Too...squishy."

"You're welcome to join me on the couch, I keep telling you that," Hermione replied blithely. "It's my quarters and my armchair—I like it, so it stays. Either sit elsewhere or shut up about it."

He scowled, feeling awkward with his anger while holding the delicate china and unable to provoke her into an argument. To her credit, she ignored him, letting him bluster it out in his head. She relaxed when he took a sip of tea then bit savagely into a sandwich. "Pervy little buggers."

She snorted. "You're telling me—keep in mind, I've been dealing with this for years."

"And yet you retain at least some semblance of sanity."

"Careful, Severus, that was almost a compliment." She gave him a tiny smile, reaching for the article he'd brought for her. "Thank you for this."

"Bringing it was infinitely preferable to dealing with your whinging if I withheld it." He selected a petit four—praline. Excellent. He glanced around her quarters as she skimmed the article; as much as he liked to watch her read, the flicker of emotions and concentration on her pretty face, he still wanted to know if she had a beau.

Nothing. No indication that she was seeing anyone. No vase of flowers, no greeting cards, no ribbon-tied stack of love letters. The pictures over the mantle were the same as they'd ever been, photos of her parents, of her and her various friends; even one of him that he'd grudgingly allowed her to take – the only photo of his that liked to remain in its frame, refusing to stalk away from Hermione's side. She hadn't changed her perfume, or done anything different with her hair. No new trinkets.

Perhaps he was overreacting. It was entirely possible that she'd merely run from her quarters to the Great Hall, providing her with that just-kissed-breathless appearance and making her hair wilder. His lips curled and he masked it with another sip of tea. Good—that was entirely logical. She was unclaimed still and he was just being a paranoid bastard.

"Fascinating," Hermione said, looking up from the article, then refilling her teacup and his. "It has a great deal of potential if the research turns out viable, wouldn't you say?"

He grunted in agreement, pulling the plate of sandwiches closer to the armchair. "Despite his ridiculous moniker, John Sprinkles has proven himself to be at least adequate in intellect."

She giggled. "High praise, coming from you. Did you want to try out a few of his suggestions?"

"Perhaps over break—should I blow a portion of the wall out, I'd rather do so when I won't have to include paperwork for killing curious little miscreants along with the repairs."

Hermione scoffed. "You're the least likely person on Earth to blow a cauldron."

"It has been known to happen on occasion." His scowl told her that he was not happy about that.

"And you were how old?" Her teasing made the corners of his mouth curve, and she felt her heart beat a little faster. Getting Severus to smile was her favorite pasttime. He had a beautiful smile...when he allowed himself to do so.

"Thirteen, I believe." He hesitated. "Would you be like to assist me in the process? A second set of hands or eyes could be useful."

Was he imagining things, or did she blush faintly? It could be the heat of the room—she kept them abominably warm, to his mind, but then, she also claimed his attire caused him to overheat.

"I'd love to." Hermione fought the blush down. It wasn't a date, for Merlin's sake. Just two colleagues trying out some new magic. She wished it was a date.

"We could also work on _these_." The last word was said on a sneer, infused with all his resentment at the books he gestured to. "I want these gone."

Rolling her eyes when he wasn't looking, Hermione let her personal moment of euphoria that he'd invited her into his laboratory evaporate for later recall. She leafed through the book on top. "These are rubbish, Severus. The paper seems ordinary, and all the print is uniform."

"I know," he groused, stealing another sandwich. She leaned forward to do the same, her blouse gaping, and he looked away quickly. "Worse, the covers change."

"Change?" She frowned, turning the book over, examining it.

"Yes," he hissed. "It fucking changes to look like the assigned text for the class of the respective teacher involved. The little bastards have been reading this shite in our classes!"

"Oh dear." She worried at her lip with her teeth, scanning the print. "These are awful, really—the spelling alone...and who wants to be fisted?"

Hermione was clearly horrified.

"Obviously written by a male," Severus said dourly. Not that he'd any such fantasies of his own, but he'd been a teacher long enough to know what the adolescents in the school thought of. For himself, he couldn't imagine a woman wanting an entire hand someplace designed to take a cock. "Before you go giving yourself nightmares by reading that trash for any deeper meaning, suffice to say that they're all awful. Poor grammar, badly written, horrible spelling, and—"

"And the most awful sex ever," she finished, tossing the book down with disgust. "I mean, honestly! I don't think a single one of these authors have ever _had_ sex. Or seen a naked person of the opposite gender."

"Obviously not." His cheeks were burning. While he wouldn't know that the sex wasn't accurate, it certainly seemed far-fetched that a man would last—what had that last one said? Eight hours?—as long as the books claimed. And he doubted a woman would be orgasming left, right, and centre from a mere touch, and certainly not an earth-shattering one each and every time.

He'd done a great deal of research on the topic in his youth, determined to have an apt performance before he'd realised that he'd never likely have sex. No one would want him because of his demeanor and looks, no matter how well-read he was on the subject, and it was a good way to lose his job even if he was desperate enough to attempt visiting Knockturn Alley for company. It was simpler to stay celibate—no pining after what he didn't know he was missing. And besides: it was oddly trite of him, he supposed, but he wanted to be wanted. No drunken flings, no hired woman, no one bent upon acquiring him for his fame or his past.

But he was rubbish at relationships, which was why his pool of friends was less than a puddle, of course.

"Ah-hah!" Hermione crowed, pointing at the back illustration of the third book and breaking his own private pity party. "This was printed three years ago."

He growled. This drivel had been circulating for three years?

"Also," she continued, "they're all linked. All the copies, I mean, to the original. They're using a complex copying charm to 'print' them."

How had he missed that?

"I can probably figure it out," she continued, "if you want to see if you can figure out who can do charms this complex."

He accepted the book she handed him gingerly, as it worried it would contaminate him, and looked at the illustration she'd found her clue in. No wonder he missed it—he hadn't been looking at the crudely-drawn and frighteningly large genitalia the artist had given him.

"I may have certain contacts available to me that you would not," he mused, studying the details he'd need in order to trace it. "I am certain you will prove yourself adept at unraveling this mystery."

"Of course." Her eyes sparkled; he should have known. Hermione Granger loved a challenge. "I'll start Monday, after the students leave for break."

"Lies." He snorted, crossing his legs at the ankle. "You will undoubtedly be up all night attempting it, and will appear at breakfast with ink on your cheek from sleeping over your parchment."

Hermione laughed, tapping her wand against the teapot, signaling she needed it refilled. "Possibly! You know me so well."

He smiled at her, then, and she grinned back, pushing her curls out of her face. How dearly he wanted to kiss her at the moment, with that dusting of pink on her cheeks and her smile so bright and directed at him. The desire to be able to make her look at him that way more often tightened his heart, and he studiously looked away under the pretense of acquiring another sandwich.

The teapot steamed and they slipped into familiar comfort, chatting about the article and which application he'd like to test first. They argued, they debated, and eventually Hermione fetched quill and parchment to draw them up one of her famous schedules.

"See, if we try with the anti-depressant on Tuesday morning," she told him excitedly, "we should be able to attempt the Headache Relief that evening."

"I _can_ brew more than one at a time," he snapped, pushing his lank hair back from his face to peer at the timetable. Jabbing his finger at the parchment, he ordered: "Add the Shrinking Solution to Tuesday morning."

Hermione sighed and moved things around until he was satisfied. "Do you always brew so many things at once?"

"Yes," he replied, refilling his tea. "If we're testing the Shrinking Solution, you might as well add the Swelling Solution to Wednesday. No sense in doing one without the other."

"Severus, this means you'll be brewing double batches of both—one with the charms and one without."

"And? I brew more batches of more potions than you realise every week, Hermione. I have four cauldrons of Pepper-Up curing right now, actually." He stirred in some sugar, adding; "I also have a batch of Veritaserum for my Ministry contract in progress, as well."

She stared at him. "But how do you maintain it?"

He gave her a curious look, raising an eyebrow until she elaborated.

"I can manage no more than two cauldrons at a time," she admitted. "It's a drain on my magic—what's your secret?"

"Is it really as difficult as all that?" Severus smirked. "Well then. I suppose having an affinity for Potions works in my favor. Truly, I don't find maintaining the magic in a potion until completion difficult."

"But, Severus, that's five cauldrons right now." She gave him an awed look. "I don't know how you do it."

"And your talents lie in charms and arithmancy," he pointed out. "An equation that takes me an hour takes you five minutes."

"At least you're still intelligent enough to understand it," she groused.

"What, are your idiot friends bothering you again?" he teased, eyes glinting. He enjoyed their banter immensely, and usually she returned in kind, but something in the way her breath caught told him that she was not as amused as he. "Hermione?"

"Sorry." She gave him a watery look. "I just...haven't even gotten an invitation to the Burrow for Christmas yet this year. I'm sure things are just hectic, but I feel left out."

"You're welcome to spend Christmas getting sloshed in my miserable company." Who said that? Oh, dear Merlin, it was him. She looked surprised, then smiled.

"I'd love it. Unless I do get an invitation, in which case, I shall have to take you with me—oh, don't look so horrified, Severus. You'll be my excuse to leave early."

He scowled at her, but didn't commit one way or the other. If she wanted him there he would likely go, the same as how he'd ended up chaperoning with her, bringing her things he thought she might find of interest... Severus wished he could find a better way to attract her attention, but knew he was woefully out of his depth, as he had never courted a woman.

With Lily he hadn't bothered, knowing his affections would not be returned. After Lily...well, there hadn't been anything but the war and trying to maintain some semblance of sanity and a modicum of privacy. The latter had been shattered, if their current troubles were any indication.

Hermione smiled at him, and he offered her some more tea. She was glorious; all curls and mind and a luscious youthful body under her robes that he'd privately admired when she sported Muggle attire. In comparison, Severus felt old and ugly, only able to meet her on equal footing on academic grounds.

Merlin help him, he longed to snog her in darkened corridors like an adolescent, to tell her of his regard for her. Did he stand even the slightest chance of her not spurning him? He didn't know how to tell. Was it worth it?

Experience told him it wasn't.

Hermione studied him covertly. Oh, God, had she tipped her hand by inviting him along? No, he wasn't sneering at her, so he mustn't suspect. She couldn't take it if he stomped all over her heart with those dragon-hide boots of his.

It wasn't worth losing her friendship with him to tell him how she felt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** (runs skidding into the chapter) I'm sorry! It's been a week since I posted the first chapter and I've spent today running amuck buying groceries and fabric for my Etsy shop (Shameless plug, I'm making nerdy pillowcases and the shop's name is Stitchumsempra.) so I sort of forgot to post this chapter before I left the house. I'm so sorry!

On that note... THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you for your support for this fic thus far! I am so glad you're enjoying it. Your reviews/comments/kudos/favourites/follows mean the world to me.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Hermione flopped onto Severus's creaking and worn couch carelessly. He winced as the springs protested her slight weight, wondering how much longer it would last before he had to replace it. Maybe a few spells would suffice for now—he'd ask Irma which book on household repairs she recommended later.

Raising an eyebrow and straightening his spine from where he'd been cramped over essays, Severus looked at his rather welcome intruder. "I take it your presence indicates that our simple-minded charges have found their way onto the train."

"Yes," she sighed, kicked her shoes under his coffee table and pulled the threadbare blanket from the back of the couch and curling under it. "It's cold in here—why do you keep it so cold?"

Severus frowned at her, replacing his quill in the inkstand. "The temperature is adequate."

"I bet it's because you wear so many layers," she told him in a disgruntled tone, shivering dramatically. Rolling his eyes, Severus rang an elf for tea and joined her on the couch.

"Perhaps if you dressed more sensibly, you would not find it necessary to steal my blanket," he quipped, admiring how she looked on his couch. She was so bright against the drab furniture he'd never cared to replace, and he could just envision her there on a regular basis: a book on her lap, her head on his shoulder... Shaking himself from his reverie, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"That bad?" He gave her a questioning look. "The essays, I mean. You always get a headache after someone turns in something particularly stupid."

"Clearly, we have been spending too much time together," he muttered, noting the flash of panic and hurt on her face. With a mental curse, he pulled her feet into his lap. "Not that you should take such a statement to mean anything, Hermione."

She relaxed, seemingly fixated on his hands on her ankles. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I did ask Filius about those charms on those so-called 'publications'."

"You did?" She gave him a delighted smile. When he didn't reply, she prompted; "And?"

"And nothing," he scowled, tightening his hold on her slender ankles. Merlin, her skin was smooth as silk. "He's looking into it, as are some Knockturn contacts of mine. Bloody useless bastards."

Hermione smiled at him again, and he tried to remember to breathe steadily. "Well, there's that, at least. Were you still interested in brewing anything tonight? Or did you want to start tomorrow, as planned?"

Severus pondered it; if they brewed tonight, he could keep her in his company with a reasonable excuse. On the other hand, he was still dissecting the text of those books, and he had a stack of third-year essays to grade, and seventh-year tests. He shook his head, lank hair falling across his face. "It will have to be tomorrow, there is a great deal left to be done."

"Would you like help? I finished my grading already."

"You are too lenient with them," he sneered. She shrugged. "Perhaps you would like to search the text of those...'books' for clues."

"I'd be happy to!" Hermione seemed happy just to be in his company—and indeed, she conjured a lap desk of sorts while he returned to the heavy oak desk he used for grading, hunched over the parchments. Severus was in the middle of a particularly scathing comment that he was quite proud of when she snorted, giggling.

"Sorry," she chortled. "It's just... this is so awful. I really can't stop laughing."

She struggled out of the blanket and leaned over the arm of the couch, her bum in the air rather enticingly. He swallowed heavily as she read aloud.

 _"'Aaah' I shriked as I cum hard, moaning as Snape spanks me, bent over his desk. '_

 _Bad girl,' he growls. 'Cumming without permission. I'm gonna teach you a lesson.'_

 _He took off his robes and reviles his gorgeous body – tanned and sculpted muscle, who knew? Dark hair spatters around his little pink nipples, and I almost cum again at the sight of his bear skin. His cock was huge – twelve inches and so thick I need both hands to wrap around it! I defiantly can't wait to feel his huge 'stirring rod' in my 'cauldron'."_

Hermione giggled throughout the entire narrative, and Severus winced, the flush on his cheekbones out of place against his sallow skin. "Oh, it's _awful_ \- you should see how bad some of the ones about me are, though. They're terrible. So much worse than the letters I get."

The thought of the letters she received, so unwelcome, stirred him to possessiveness once more. He should really stop that—he'd always had himself under tight control, but she shattered it. He longed to kiss her, to hold her, to claim her...but she wouldn't want him.

Oh, Merlin, she was looking rather alarmed now—what the devil had she been talking about before his mind wandered? Shite. Shite, shite, shite.

"It's okay, Severus. I'm not making fun of _you_ , just the writing. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." She was blushing again, looking far too sexy in that position, and he fought the urge to say something. Instead, he looked at her with unreadable eyes before nodding curtly.

He'd have to chase her from his rooms soon; his pants were far too tightly buttoned to take much more of her cavorting on his furnishings. A few well-aimed barbs should send her fleeing... perhaps he'd start by inquiring if her 'dear friends' had bothered to invite her to Christmas yet.

* * *

Severus hadn't meant to upset her, just make her angry enough to leave his rooms before he cocked up their friendship, pun not intended. But Hermione had looked at him with such _hurt_ before she'd tightened her jaw, spun on her heel, and marched from his quarters earlier. After, of course, she'd reamed him verbally up one side and down the other. Which made matters worse, because when she was in a snit he dearly wanted to kiss her. But now perhaps he had pushed too far. He didn't know how to fix it and was entirely out of his depth—which was why he was heading to the library.

If the libidinous scoundrels masquerading as students could manage to maintain functioning relationships, so too should he be capable of rectifying his mistake. _Maybe there's a damned book on telling a woman you desire to take her to dinner_ , he thought to himself, his footfalls nearly silent in the stone hall. His cloak swept behind him comfortingly, and the light from the torches was dim enough that he was able to blend into the shadows.

Not that he needed to—there were only a scant handful of students residing in the castle over holidays, and he doubted that any of them would be frequenting the library, let alone skulking about the nearby corridors. Pity—three of the students staying were from Gryffindor, and he did so dearly love to deduct points from their house.

The well-oiled hinges of the heavy oak doors made no sound as he let himself in, knowing Irma was likely shelving or reading (he shuddered) some historical bodice-ripper she thought she had well-charmed behind her desk. Thinking of her odious reading choices circled him back to the tripe he'd discovered, and to his horror Severus found himself wondering if Hermione was as virginal as portrayed in the stories.

 _Stop it_ , he told himself firmly, sneering at the thought that she would never want him in the manner in which he desired her. After all, she ran hot and cold with him – if he couldn't keep her interested in friendship, how the devil could he even think of ways to convince her to go out to dinner with him? It was hopeless. At least he was used to unrequited feelings, he thought sourly.

A familiar feminine sigh caught his ear and he ducked between the shelves without thinking. Sod it all. Of course Hermione was in the bloody library.

"Find everything?" The woman was sour to everyone except the resident swot; Irma still treated him with suspicion, for Merlin's sake.

"Oh, yes. As always." His heart clenched—Hermione sounded sad. Was she so affected by him? He hadn't meant to make her unhappy, just to make her leave the room. He should show himself, apologise, even if it meant Irma would mock him for the rest of the school year...

"And things with your fellow?" Severus frowned sharply, freezing mid-step.

"Same as ever," Hermione replied evenly. "It's alright, Irma, I don't want your copy of 'Thirteen Time-Tested Ways to Wrangle a Wizard'. No, really." He could only imagine Irma brandishing the battered paperback at her. "Honestly, I don't know why you even have that here at Hogwarts...He still doesn't and won't want me, and your book won't change it. I've tried wearing perfume near him, spending time with him, finding things he'd like..."

"He's stubborn," Irma told her, harrumphing as she settled back into her chair with a creak. "Has been since he was a student, you know. Sharp as a tack, but blind to the obvious sometimes."

"Well, I'm not broadcasting it, either," Hermione muttered. There was a thump—books on the checkout desk? "I'm trying to hide it, Irma, not flout it in his face."

"Maybe you should. Put on your best knickers and throw yourself at him."

"But he won't want me." Hermione's voice sounded so small. "It's been made abundantly clear that he doesn't want people to throw themselves at him. Besides... the whole wizarding world knows he loves someone else. Throwing myself at him would be gauche, tactless, futile..and I'd lose my friendship with him."

Ice ran through his veins as he calculated the possible men Hermione could be in love with. Stupid and stubborn, a friendship—Potter, Longbottom, and Weasley. In love with someone else? Potter. Potter was married to the youngest Weasley girl.

Of course. It was always a Potter.

He nearly staggered at the pain in his heart. Of course she'd been so hurt by the lack of a Christmas invitation—Hermione loved Potter. Handsome, popular, loved-by-all, dunderheaded _Potter_.

He didn't stand a chance.

Severus didn't hear the rest of the conversation, and just barely managed to obscure himself as a miserable-looking Hermione made her exit.

He busied himself with the books, finding the tomes he needed. How would he face her tomorrow for brewing, if she came? How could he comport himself, treat her the same?

Glowering at his own pathetic internal monologue, he lugged his selections up to the counter. Irma peered over her glasses at him with a frown.

"Figures, that you'd be in here. Whatever you did, you'd better bloody fix it," she hissed, jabbing her finger into his wool-wrapped chest. Fuck, her nails were sharp.

Severus drew himself up and glared down his nose at her. "I haven't done anything, you daft woman. I never write in a library book, as well you know."

"Not that!" Irma scowled at him. "Fix the mess you made with your friend. You're so blind, Severus—you've hurt her and you'd better fix it, before I lose on the bet."

"Bet?" His brow furrowed further.

"Stop frowning at me, you're going to go cross-eyed at the rate you're going. It didn't work when you were a student, and it's not going to work now." She pushed her glasses back up her nose, the beaded chain clacking. "You bollocksed things up. Again. Stop pushing the girl away, and whatever you said to _this_ girl, you'd best apologise for. Once she's done being hurt, she'll get angry again, and I think her friends would tell you that you don't want to be on the receiving end of her wand."

His jaw twitched and he ground his teeth together. "How I interact with my friend is none of your business, Irma. Check out the bloody books."

His hissed words and unspoken threat didn't faze the librarian, who snorted. "Fix it, Severus, you stubborn git." She stamped the books' cards and handed them to him with a smug smile for having tied his tongue. "If you write in these, young man, I'll make working as a spy seem like a child's fluffy daydream."

The smile went from smug to sly, and Irma brushed her quill against his jaw before he could flinch away. "So. Tell me, Severus, are the stories true? Do you really have a twelve-inch cock?"

He left in a flurry of robes before she could mock him further, trying to ignore the grating cackle that followed him. Damn. Not enough time to fix everything—he'd pushed away his friend, and, worse, she was in love with Potter. Now he wouldn't stand a chance to steal her away...What had he done? Fear was cotton in his mouth, and sweat dotted his brow.

He had to fix this. But what was he to do? Damn it, he shouldn't have stormed out. He should have risked asking Irma for books on courting. Damn it, damn it, _damn it_.

For now, going to his rooms would have to suffice. Severus quickly calculated the hours until dinner. A thought struck him and he changed his course, heading for the Great Hall. It would be empty now. He'd fix his mistake—he had to.

And then he would steal her away from Potter. This time, he would _not_ lose to a fucking Potter!

* * *

Hermione huffed, and caught herself from throwing the book across the room just in time. Irma would skin her if she found so much as an edge of her precious restricted tomes with a slight pressure mark, let alone a dent from being chucked against the stone walls of her chambers.

What had she done to make Severus say such vile things? The reading aloud of that stupid, stupid story couldn't have been that bad—hell, she remembered when he'd read Skeeter's awful stories about her aloud to the entire class, embarrassing her and...

Oh.

"I'm an idiot," she moaned, covering her face with her hands. How could she have been so insensitive? She _knew_ he was prickly, knew how he valued his privacy and demanded respect: and she knew how he'd been mocked as a student. Damn it. She'd bollocksed it up.

"He must hate me," she whispered. She'd laughed at the writing, but he must have thought she was laughing at him, despite her protestations. "God, I hate this."

She'd need to apologise, and soon, to repair things. Hermione wondered just how she could be so bloody smart, face battle... and yet was too afraid to just tell Severus Snape she fancied him. Certainly the students had no problem doing so. Hell, strangers didn't seem to have the trouble.

Worse, with those awful sex-based stories, he might just assume she was as infatuated with him as the others. But how hard could it be to merely ask him to dinner? To a museum during a break? To come to her quarters for tea and books and actually manage to tell him her feelings that time? She thought the words whenever she had him alone, but they'd never escaped her lips.

"Some Gryffindor I am," came her muttered retort to her musings. She'd have to find something on getting a boy (man) to like her. She should have asked Irma about books on dating, or accepted that stupid book she kept trying to shove at her. She didn't know how to show him that she was attracted to him. Viktor had asked her. Ron, well, she'd known him forever and it had been so impulsive of her to throw her arms around him and kiss him. The few boys she'd gone on dates with in the past had asked her. And Severus, well...

Severus was so much more than the boys she'd dated. He was tall and intense and so intelligent. His self-control made her long for him to break down. God, she'd love to see him in passionate abandon—she caught a glimpse of the depth he was capable of when he talked while he brewed. If she asked the right questions, his voice and love for his craft would sweep her away.

"There has to be a way to get his attention," she mused. Perhaps Christmas would be the right time? She could dress up, buy him a fabulous present—she'd have to find the perfect gift to give him in front of others. Oh, she'd forced her gifts on him before, usually something useful and only slightly personal. She'd go shopping this week, Hermione decided. She'd apologise tonight at dinner, brew with him tomorrow, and then go shopping. No, scratch that, she wouldn't have nearly enough time. She'd have to settle for a book, and try to give him his real gift in private later.

A glance at the clock showed about two hours until dinner, and she sighed. Usually, she sat next to Severus—would it be improper to sit elsewhere until he'd finished fuming? No...he would probably take it the wrong way if she sat elsewhere, and that would just exacerbate the whole problem.

Hermione picked the book back up, scripting apologies he'd be likely to accept in the back of her mind.

* * *

Severus sat at his normal seat at the high table, waiting. Merlin, he was nervous, not that he would allow his expression to betray him. When was the last time his palms had been sweaty? Years, definitely. Perhaps his trial. The first one, after the Dark Lord's first defeat.

The last time he'd driven away a friend, he'd apologised repeatedly, at length, and earned himself several beatings for his pitifulness in the common room after his final attempt. He was counting on Hermione to be more forgiving, at the least. After all, he'd read in the papers about how that ginger-brained moron had left them (which he'd already known about from Phineas), and then had returned just in time to save the Boy Who Kept Trying To Get Himself Killed from drowning—and how Hermione had forgiven him so swiftly, despite what they'd admitted to the Prophet had been very hurtful words.

How could his palms be damp when his blood was ice in his veins? Vaguely, he wondered if there was a way to replicate the freezing-blood effect in a potion. It'd be an interesting challenge, but, alas, there was no real application for such a thing.

...But when had that stopped him before? Severus extracted the parchment and stubby pencil he kept stashed in his pocket and noted the idea in his spiky scrawl on an empty space. The parchment was worn soft, and covered with various notes/ideas/thoughts/lists, some of which were crossed out several times.

"An auspicious day!" Sybil announced suddenly a few seats down. Severus growled under his breath. Since when did the daft bint deign to leave her lofty tower? Oh, right—it was the holidays: less students to "cloud her inner eye". Damn. He'd have to deal with her and her declarations all night. It wasn't that he disliked Sybil (he did), or that he thought she was a fraud (she wasn't, she was just hopeless at teaching her subject with any degree of accuracy), it was that she was, frankly, obnoxious and suffered from wandering hands when drunk.

...And she'd already pulled the carafe towards her. _Not again._ Severus shot a quick Switching Spell at it, hoping the Giant Squid wouldn't mind a little bit of a buzz this evening. Sybil frowned blearily at the pitcher when it poured out lake water, then sighed and pulled a bottle of sherry not-quite-stealthily from her robes. _I tried_. Last time Sybil'd gotten 'handsy', Hermione'd been forced to slap her after a particularly healthy grab, even after Filius, a curious shade of puce and keeping as far away from the Divination professor as possible, had suggested they call an elf to take Sybil up to bed.

Unfortunately, Pomona, kind soul that she was, took the bait. "What's so auspicious about it, Sybil?"

The bug-eyed professor waved her arms wildly. "Today! Tonight!" She blinked, in Severus's polite opinion, like a drunken owl. "I had just spilled my tea upstairs -" ( _more like sherry_ , Severus thought snidely.) "When the candle blew out! I knew right away that I was about to be enlightened... from _the beyond_."

"Honestly," Hermione muttered. She'd come in the side door and sat beside Severus with a scowl. He smirked; his subtle spell tailored to make her continue to sit next to him had worked perfectly. "Not this again. Last time she was enlightened from beyond her wine bottle, she proclaimed that 'the open book of Venus will suddenly close, sending Mars spiraling into self-doubt and sadness.' And lo, no planets fell from the sky. The only enlightenment would be relighting the bloody candle."

Longbottom chortled next to her, but Sybil glared daggers at her.

"You have never practiced your Inner Eye, Hermione, or you'd know how true my words were!" Sybil's bangles clacked as she pointed vehemently at her. "This time, it was a bear, right in the center of my cup! And a lamp to the left, a flame to the right, and... a _lock_."

"Of course, I'm sorry, Sybil, I didn't mean to offend." Hermione's tone was contrite, but her expression was anything but. "I hope this means everything will be well."

"It is most auspicious. So long in coming..." She squinted owlishly into her goblet again, dumping the lake water onto the floor with a slurry shrug, then filled it with her sherry.

"There are still students present," Severus hissed to her, his expression thunderous. Sybil blinked, and he flicked his wand, Vanishing both the goblet and bottle of sherry to the kitchens. "If you insist on acting the drunk, do it in your own rooms, and not in the Great Hall."

"Well!" Affronted, Sybil rose sharply, swaying slightly. She sniffed derisively. "The forces have made it clear that my presence is unwelcome. I shall adjourn to my tower, clearing my Inner Eye by reading the cards..."

"As you will," Minerva said, nodding at her. "I'll have the elves send a tray up." Sybil left in a swish of skirts and clack of beads, wobbling her way to the side door. Severus was just thankful she hadn't attempted the walk the length of the hall.

"Minerva's too easy on her," Longbottom remarked. He'd spent the past year or so since leaving the Aurors apprenticing to replace Pomona, and Severus was not looking forward to the day when he'd be forced to interact with the boy in order to procure several of his specimens. "She needs help, really. She's worse than when we were students."

"I know," Hermione said, smiling at him. Severus scowled. "How's Luna, by the way? I saw in the Quibbler that she'll be returning from South America soon."

"She'll be back tonight!" Longbottom gave the sappy grin of those in love. Severus scowled and pushed his potatoes around his plate. Daft boy, always mooning about over the Lovegood girl. Wasn't the Prophet always speculating on when he'd be asking the girl to—oh, hell. Maybe it wasn't Potter with whom Hermione was in love. Perhaps it was Longbottom.

 _Damn._

"Oh! By the way, Ron sent me yours by accident—they were stuck together, and I'm almost afraid to think of what it is." Hermione took a discolored piece of parchment from him with a grimace.

"Ugh, you're right—it's still sticky! Knowing Ron, it's probably syrup or spilled tea... Oh, it's my invite for Christmas!" She sounded so pleased that Severus refrained from making an unkind comment about the state of the sloppily-written letter. "And he's bringing Susan, too—oh, bother, I can't read half of this, no wonder it was more or less attached to yours, Neville..."

 _Bugger! I'd forgotten that the ginger had a bloody girlfriend. It could be any three of the dunderheads_. Fuck it. He'd have to go to the Weasley Christmas, if only to observe her behavior with all three and suss out which it was. Weasley was a highly unlikely candidate for her affections given their past, but the heart was a fickle thing. It was much more difficult to best someone when you didn't know who your opponent was. _I was a spy for twenty years. How hard can it be to deduce the target of her affections while not revealing my own?_

Eventually conversation between the two trickled off, and Hermione chewed nervously at her lip. "Severus? Will you pass the potatoes, please?"

"Indeed," he replied softly, lifting the platter and bringing it over to her. _Here's your chance..._ He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry. For earlier, I mean." Her voice was a whisper, and her cheeks stained an attractive shade of pink.

"I am not the one who requires an apology." His voice was low and pained. Under the table, her hand hesitantly patted his thigh.

"So... Christmas?" She gave him a hopeful look. He nodded curtly, praying simultaneously that she would and would not move her hand.

"I would be pleased to escort you," he managed, but before any more could be said Peeves swooped in, singing off-key and bawdy carols too make conversation. Not to mention they all had quite a time trying to shut the poltergeist up before it could make a rhyme with "bucket".

* * *

 _Damn. Not only could it be Potter, but it could be Longbottom. Or Weasley—which may be worse, seeing as how she has a 'history' with the boy._ His narrow bed creaked ominously as he shifted from his side to his back. Why did this have to be so difficult?

Severus groaned, scrubbing at his face. Damn.

Why? Why did she have to be in love with someone else, if anyone at all? He wasn't very good at making friends—Hell, just look at how long it had taken him to believe Hermione had altruistic intentions about becoming his friend—let alone _courting_ the woman.

Worse, with the shite being sold featuring her person, she would be incredibly unlikely to believe his intentions were honourable. Would she think him a lecherous old man? Likely not, but he did yearn for her in such a manner, and did not want to make her uncomfortable. That was likely a way to a cold shoulder, and he'd had enough cold shoulders in his life, thank you all the same.

Thinking of cold reminded him of walking back from Hogsmeade with her – the way her cheeks had been pale and pink with cold, highlighting the slight dusting of freckles lingering still from the summer sun... Her eyes had been bright with laughter and happiness when she spoke with him, and he was still invited to Christmas – her smile had been such a reward...

Severus tensed, remembering how warm she'd been, the soft fragrance of her perfume as they took cover under the table from the food fight with a giggle (of hers, not his). How the students had gotten the elves to participate was beyond him and he wasn't above Body-Binding the little blighters, but she'd tugged him under the table with a shriek before he could do so.

He'd followed that delicate hand on his wrist, kneeling surrounded by her wild hair as something squishy sailed past where they had been and smacking into the back of his chair. Even knowing that something distasteful was likely splattered across his back had been overshadowed by the feel of her breasts against his arm.

Startled to feel himself pressed against the covers, Severus lifted the blankets and scowled at his erection. "Stop that," he growled. "I refuse to wank like a bloody teenage boy over a colleague."

Of course, his body refused to listen to him, happily remaining hard and pointing at him. Dropping the covers once more, he attempted to think of any myriad of unpleasant things. The Dark Lord in a tutu, scaly bare legs and all. Minerva in a tartan bikini. Pickled slugs. Melted cauldrons. That awful "Snape" dildo in the shop.

Well, that didn't work because now he was envisioning her in that insipid costume, his cock twitching and throbbing.

Damn. With a resigned sigh, Severus reached down and grasped himself. Gritting his teeth and closing his eyes tightly, he began to stroke. He shouldn't demean her in this way. Shouldn't think about her breasts and her eyes and her mouth and her hands and _damn it I should not be thinking of this!_

One hand balled into the bedsheet and he gasped between clenched teeth. _Oh, Merlin_. It'd been too long since he'd allowed himself to do this—every time, he felt guilty after for viewing her so crudely. If his attraction was mutual, he would not have such reservations. He was tired of suppressing his desires, and every smile, every gape of her blouse filled his mind.

The memory of the scent of her curls as they crouched under the table to avoid the mashed potatoes and dressing pressed so close together made him pant. His fingers wrapped more tightly around his cock, stroking furiously. No more gentle touches, no caresses, no teasing the head – just the urge to come before he shamed himself with fantasies. He clenched his eyes shut, desperate to envision her in his rooms, in his bed... Merlin, how he wanted her! Images danced through his fevered brain – Hermione in the morning and giving him that wicked smile of hers, Hermione greeting him each evening, Hermione sleeping by his side, Hermione as _his_ wife with _his_ ring marking her...

The room was quiet – the soft crackle of the fire, the sound of flesh on flesh, his pants, the tick of the grandfather clock in the next room...and then the deep shuddering groan as he came, his cock pulsing in his hand.

 _Damn._

* * *

 _For those curious about the tasseomancy..._

 _Bear – a grouchy or difficult person  
Fire – passion. Sexual desire.  
Lamp – secrets revealed  
Lock – there are obstacles in your way_

 _Not subtle. I know. Not sorry._


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** You are all so wonderful, and your reception for this fic has been so warm and kind that I thought I'd surprise you with an extra chapter this week. (The next one is Tuesday. I hope. I've set an alarm on my phone, even!)

Also, special shout-out to the awesome person who purchased a pillowcase from my Etsy, Stitchumsempra! (Advanced Potions Making pillowcases coming soon, btw!)

As always, thank you for your support and reviews, they mean everything to me. :)

* * *

 **Chapter 4**

If she'd noticed his stiffness and the hint of a flush on his cheeks in the few days of testing charms in potions, Hermione did not say anything, and Severus counted himself lucky that the heat of the room could attest to his unusual color. She, on the other hand, had been dressing in what looked to be soft jumpers and Muggle jeans.

Oh, how he wanted to touch those jumpers.

Instead, he shoved a journal and a stylo at her—why risk the splatters of ink in documenting research when he could simply use a damn pen?—and set to work, chopping and slicing.

"Do you think it's going to work?" Came the voice hovering by his elbow, and he gave her a dry look.

"Hermione, surely by now I've impressed upon you that brewing successfully does require some level of conviction for your success?" He slid the oak cutting board aside and selected the maple one before handing her the grater. "If you're going to insist on pestering me, make yourself useful. Two fingers, set in the green glass bowl to your left. Two fingers more, in the blue glass bowl."

"Your fingers or mine?" she asked without thinking, and flushed to the roots of her hair. Thankfully, he'd already turned back to his work bench, and she quickly bent to the task.

"Mine," he replied hoarsely, and she winced at the sound. She shouldn't have made him talk when he was slicing Manganese pepper root.

Severus heard the rasp of the grater and exhaled shakily, willing the blood in his body to return to other regions—namely his fingers, which flexed on the knife handle. Damn being a man and so quick to arousal! He took a calming breath, ignoring the minor irritation of the root. It was worse than chopping onions, but even a mild containment spell on the unprepared root would damage the magical properties it held.

"Have you thought of a face mask?" Hermione asked as she grated, carefully gauging the height. "You know, like a Muggle surgeon's mask? Or one of the ones they use when putting in drywall?"

He flushed. She would ask that. "If you were doing this task, Hermione, I would have procured one for you." He sliced several more thin rounds before admitting: "They do not fit properly for my physiognomy."

"Oh." She pondered that as well, and he heard her tapping the grater against the bowl. "One down—hand me another of these, will you?"

"Cross-contamination." He jerked his chin at the basket in front of him. "Should only take one other. I had the boy harvest four. They keep well enough under stasis."

"Oops." Carefully, Hermione reached in front of him, keeping her hair back and sending the gentle scent of her perfume wafting towards him. It took great control for him not to inhale it, instead slowing his pace so she could safely procure another Sicilian lemon—magical variety, and difficult to grow under hothouse conditions. It was a testament to Sprout's talents that the tree he'd had her plant almost a decade ago was thriving and able to bear fruit.

The tree itself had been a gift from Lucius back before he had lost so much of his fortune—oh, sod it all. Gifts. Christmas. It would be expected this year as he would be accompanying her to her friends': he couldn't just toss any old book at her. Even though he knew enough of her book collection to correctly gift her with volumes she didn't yet have and knew she would enjoy, it would be Christmas as both a colleague and at the bloody Burrow. He was going to be _judged_ on his gift to her.

Frowning, he set aside the pepper root. Was he supposed to find gifts for the Weasleys? Would they accept him _not_ hexing anyone for at least an hour as a gift? Were they even aware that their erstwhile friend had invited him? Scowling, he switched to the plastic cutting board and began hacking away at the lavender. He'd have to ask Hermione.

"Have you made this anti-depressant often? I don't see a recipe book."

"Hermione—"

"I know, I know, you're concentrating. Sorry." She tapped the grater against the second bowl. "What next?"

Sparing her a glance, he nodded towards the cauldrons. "You may decant those if you'd like—Pepper Up for Poppy. I'll take them up later."

For a while the only sounds were his knife, the rustle of the lavender—why it had to be fresh when dried was easier to work with...hmm...he should experiment with that later—and the quiet clink of glass against metal as she carefully measured the potion into individual doses. Once, the potions had been in larger bottles, relying on Poppy to measure each, but Severus had put an end to that for the basic potions. Prefects, the Head Boy, the Head Girl, and the Heads of House had the password to the cabinet holding basic remedies—Pepper Up, Headache Relief, menstrual relief—in individual doses. The potions were mild enough that no measuring for height, weight, or age was necessary, and it had saved Poppy several sleepless nights.

How she'd gotten Horace to comply with Severus's system was beyond him—he rather liked to imagine the tubby blowhard pinned against the wall by the aged medi-witch upon seeing the giant bottles of potions... "Old Sluggy" had been useless when Severus was a student, and the man had only marginally redeemed himself since. _Wanker._

No, don't think that word!

Grateful that she was across the room, Severus fought down the blush. For Merlin's sakes, he was too old for this foolishness. Besides, she cared for someone else, per her own conversation with Irma.

Well, he'd just have to go to the bloody Christmas thing and find out who, exactly, his competition was so he could destroy them. The sudden thought of gifting Potter or Weasley a stack of them-centric filthy novels while their friends and family looked on filled him with malicious glee.

* * *

By Friday, Hermione was dreading the weekend. Last Christmas, when they'd first worked together, he'd disappeared to his cottage and hadn't returned to the school until the last possible minute. This year, she'd spent the entire week with him, watching his brilliance at work and trying to attract his attention with jumpers that practically screamed "I'm soft, touch me" and wearing jeans rather than skirts, her hair up and down...

She'd even spent an aggravating hour trying to paint her nails to some degree of tidiness, and had spent another fifteen minutes trying to get lacquer out of her sitting room rug. Hell, she'd worn lipstick and a little more shadow than normal, feeling very not-herself.

Nothing seemed to work, and after the holiday, he was likely to retreat to his dungeons or cottage for a reprieve, and nothing would have changed.

Again.

For another year.

Hermione scowled and sank deeper into her bubble bath. Damn the man. And damn her cowardice. She should just say something to him. Right, like that would go over well. She'd lose her very best friend! Closing her eyes, she could just envision the sneer he'd affix to those wicked lips, could _hear_ his acidic rejection. She just knew which tone he'd choose to put her in her place. Could feel the zing of his wards closing her out...

Even hypothetically, it broke her heart, and she wiped the hot tears from her face, careful not to smear bubbles into her eyes and just make it worse.

 _I'm a coward._

* * *

"What time would you like to leave tomorrow?" Hermione asked from his elbow, her wild hair once again too close to the cauldron for his liking.

Startled, he glanced down at her, almost faltering in his stirring rhythm. "Tomorrow? I thought Christmas, not Christmas Eve."

"Oh, sorry... I didn't explain?" Her smile distinctly said that she had done so deliberately to trap him, and he scowled at her. The chit—that was how she'd tricked him into going to dinner with her and her parents on her birthday a few years back. She leaned back on her elbows, and he used his spare hand to brush her curls away from the burner, annoyed.

"You know you didn't. Either tie back your damn hair or sit at the table."

Hermione just smiled at him wider and pulled an elastic from her pocket, plaiting her hair with absurd ease. "Usually, we have a quiet Christmas Eve, then sleep over. Christmas morning means breakfast and gifts, and, of course, Christmas dinner...I don't show up until late, usually after Christmas Eve dinner, so I can be here for the students. Would you like to go earlier? Later?"

"Am I expected to purchase gifts for your odious friends?" He'd rather not go at all—the mere fact that he was attending was surely broadcasting his feelings towards her. He was likely to embarrass himself at this rate, confessing his feelings towards her.

She giggled, nonplussed at his insults and neatly breaking him from his reverie. "If you did, they'd probably die of shock, you know... I can just imagine all the spells they'd cast to try to verify that you didn't poison them or something. But, no—I've taken care of presents, since you're my guest. Don't worry about it. They're actually all thrilled that you're finally coming."

He snorted, crushing a handful of hartshare and stirring it in. Well, one less obligation to worry about. "As long as no one intends to shove me into something 'cheerful', I would be amenable to arriving at your normal hour."

"I don't know about cheerful, but you should probably wear something a little less severe. I know you have some jumpers." She peered into the cauldron. "That's a pretty shade of green."

"The final product is more of a goldenrod," he said stiffly. "And you are trying to change the subject. Is it necessary to wear something other than my normal attire?"

"Not at all. I just like seeing you in jumpers is all. You look very nice right now, but it's a holiday and even _you_ should relax a bit." Her watch chimed and she swore. He raised an eyebrow. "What? Just because I don't swear often doesn't mean I can't or won't, Severus. I have tea with Minerva in ten; will you be in the staff lounge before dinner today?"

"Perhaps." Her lips twitched into a smile—clearly she knew that meant 'yes'.

"Okay. See you later."

He frowned as she left his lab. She was acting strangely again. If he hadn't been so paranoid with his wards, he would have worried that someone had been pretending to be Hermione. No, that was her magical signature that crossed his wards, her perfume... Maybe it was close to her cycle and that was why she was being oddly flirtatious towards him. Was she using him as practice?

No, that was daft, even by Gryffindor standards. Hermione was above such things, surely, or least she'd outgrown it. He vaguely recalled something petty from her school days, but it was unimportant, he supposed. She was an intelligent witch, and knew better than to work so hard to force him to accept her as a friend just to toy with him.

Brow furrowing, he added four drops of acid, stirring counter-clockwise with rapid strokes. Damn Hermione and her offhand comments... he'd have to unearth some less formal clothing. A sallow flush stained his cheeks and he found a smile creeping across his face before he quashed it ruthlessly.

 _She thinks I look nice._

* * *

She was waiting for him after Christmas Eve dinner, dressed neatly in a pea coat and a knit cap pulled down to her ears and her hair fluffing out underneath it.

"Hullo! All set?" She beamed at him, small bag dangling from her wrist by one of her mittens. "Dinner went well, and I actually managed to finish up grading those essays. I also took a look at those stories again."

"Not here," he hissed, shifting his own worn black traveling case to his other hand to grasp her arm and drag her towards the doors as she laughed gaily. "Have some discretion, witch! Some of the students remaining over the holidays are underage!"

Her eyes sparkled up at him and she pushed her hair over her shoulder. "Sorry."

"Wait!" She bumped into him as he stopped suddenly. "Where are your things?"

"Here." The wrist from which the small bag hung waved in front of his face.

"Undetectable extension charm?"

Hermione smiled again. "Got it in one. It's really very handy, and it means less luggage for me, especially when I have to cart presents from one place to another."

His hand tightened on his leather bag. Her present was tucked away inside. Would she like it? But she was tugging on his arm now, urging him down the path to the gates and Apparition point, their breath frosting in the air. Vaguely, he wondered if anyone was watching, and if so, what they would think of the bushy-haired Transfiguration Professor dragging their surly Potions Master down a snow-covered path as his heavy traveling cloak billowed behind him, the two of them carrying small bags.

Oh, hell, they'd probably start a horrific rumor that they were dating... Perhaps if such a rumor circulated it would give him the chance to gauge Hermione's reaction to such a thing? Hmm.

She looked so bright and shiny compared to him. He shouldn't have done this, he reflected morosely as she led them out of earshot of the castle. Not for the first time he was grateful for the Warming Charms, and he cursed the distance to the gates. Hermione was so vibrant, always clean and while her clothes were rumpled they were usually in good stead. He, however, was dark and dour, completely unsuited to her. His hair was impossible to keep clean, despite his attempts, and if one looked closely at his clothes, they would find them clearly not-new.

Granted, it was senseless to continuously purchase new clothing when elves or charms could repair damage caused by asinine students, and he'd always been rather frugal, a carry-over from childhood. And it didn't help that Hogwarts had been suffering from a bit of financial difficulty lately, repairs and the like coming before salary raises for staff. But he still couldn't help but feel rather shabby with his slightly frayed cuffs and scuffed travel bag next to Hermione.

"Are we far enough now?" she asked cheekily, intruding upon his thoughts.

Severus scowled, reclaiming his arm to resettle his scarf about his neck. When the cold air hit the scars they ached, and he'd neglected to pack the warming ointment. Briefly, he considered stalking back to the castle for it, but discarded the idea. Pointless for one evening. He could always soak a cloth in hot water and apply it.

"Yes," he ground out.

"Good. As I was saying, I took another look at those stories. I was trying to find a common theme to them, but there isn't, really, so it looks like they're from various authors, or as near as I can tell with the limited sample I have, anyway. I'm not too keen on going back to Madame Puddifoot's and purchasing more, either." Her breath steamed in the air as she paused to gather her thoughts. "So, there must be a way to submit to the publisher."

Merlin, he hadn't thought of that. _Damn it!_ How could they have missed such an obvious thing?

"I still don't think any of them have ever had sex," she complained. "Have you paid any attention to the pacing and positions? It's mad! One minute people are facing each other, then turned around, on a table or counter, then magically on a bed...I tried to twist myself into some of the positions they're describing, and they're physically impossible, unless I have someone remove my bones like Lockhart did to Harry's arm, do you remember?"

That earned a snort of derision from him. "That imbecile. He couldn't have healed a paper cut, let alone a broken bone."

Hermione giggled, her practical boots crunching through the snow as she trod alongside him. His own dragonhide boots left heavy imprints as his cloak swept behind them. The evening air was crisp and so cold it burned through his lungs. He refreshed his Warming Charm: he was too thin to be traipsing about outside so close to dark without his usual layers.

"How do you propose we locate the publisher? It's not like it's bloody emblazoned on the cover," he groused. Hermione pulled her cap down with a shiver and glanced up at him.

"It might be charmed so that the people featured cannot read it. I brought one to show Ginny, see if she can tell me."

"YOU WHAT?" he roared, stopping on the path and glowering at her.

"Save the rage," she told him curtly, tugging on his arms to uncross them. "I brought one of the ones featuring me, Severus. And I'm going to pull her aside and ask her in private. Have a little faith in me."

"I do," he managed, once he'd stopped seeing red. "It's your air-headed friends in whom I lack trust."

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him. "Severus... I'd love for you to come with me, I do... but if you are only coming because you think you _have_ to, I'll stay here with you instead. I don't want to push you into joining me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

To his surprise, she looked more worried than upset, and he fought the sallow blush threatening to rise on his cheeks. When had she come to know him so well? "I am not attending under any sort of duress," he said stiffly his head tipping forward to better look at her, his hair brushing against his cheeks. "I am merely preparing myself for the onslaught of Gryffindor holiday cheer."

"Well, you managed that without sneering," she said ruefully, reaching up to push his hair back over his ears. Startled, he jerked back. "Sorry. I doubt they'll pester you too much, Severus. Just glower at them and I'm fairly certain you'll only have to talk to me, Molly, and Arthur. Maybe George. Everyone else is still ingrained to obey you."

He barked a laugh and pushed past her. Hermione laughed and followed him, catching up to him and matching his pace walking so close to him that her arm brushed his, and he allowed himself a small smile. "If only you lot had been so manageable in the past."

Hermione glanced up at his severe profile, glad that the cold masked her blush. He'd still chosen to come with her! It warmed her heart, and she fought not to reach out and grasp his hand.

* * *

Hermione jerked her head up from her book. What was that? It sounded oddly like Severus, but surely he would have placed a Silencing Charm on his door. The Burrow was eerily quiet: most everyone Silenced their rooms since the war (or since marriage), and Hermione was certain she was the only one awake.

Placing a piece of yarn in her spot as a bookmark, she shrugged a robe on over her thin nightgown and shoved her feet into her slippers, careful to step over the knitting project she had left on the floor, bespelled needles clacking away. The door to Ginny's old room creaked open and she listened, holding the robe closed just under her breasts.

It was faint, so that discounted Ron's room, shared by Ron and Susan. It wasn't likely to be the next room, either, which held George and Charlie – so she crept towards the stairs. Why the Burrow had been expanded vertically made no sense to her – surely a pregnant Molly had had trouble with the stairs!

She stepped carefully down the flight, listening. Well, it wasn't coming from Bill and Fleur. Dead silence. Harry and Ginny in Charlie's room was quiet, too. Percy's old room, though... yes, there it was again. Distressed moans. A soft whimper. She tapped softly on the door.

"Severus?" she whispered. "Severus, are you alright?"

There was no reply, just another suppressed groan, and it tugged at her heart, so she pushed the door open. "Severus? It's Hermione."

Lighting her wand with a soft glow, she pushed it into the room first, Shield Charm on the tip of her tongue. "Severus?"

The light illuminated the room and the narrow bed, allowing her to see Severus in stark relief, his head thrown back as it tossed from side to side. Sweat plastered his already-lank hair to his skull, and his hands balled into fists, tangling the sheets. It broke her heart to see his uneven teeth clenched, his chest heaving and the sounds that escaped him... Hastily, she slipped into the room and closed the door. He wouldn't want anyone to see this, likely not even her, but too bad for him.

Casting a swift Shield on herself, she crept forward, closer to the bed. "Severus?"

She gasped as his wand dug into her neck, his face suddenly looming in front of hers, a snarl on his lips. As quickly as he'd awoken he looked startled, sad, apologetic, and something else, and his wand pulled back. "Granger?"

"Hermione," she chided, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Are you alright?"

"Fine," he muttered sourly, sitting up with a protest of the bedsprings. "Clearly, I neglected to cast a Silencing Charm. Too used to my own rooms."

"It's alright. I think I'm the only other one who didn't have one up; I don't usually cast it until I'm able to sleep."

He snorted, pushing his sweat-dampened hair back with one long-fingered hand that trembled in the wandlight. "You? Trouble sleeping? And what, pray tell, renders this a difficulty for you, Hermione? Trying to finish one last chapter?"

"Nightmares," she told him curtly. "I find that it's easier to stay up exhausting myself reading so I have a greater chance at not dreaming."

Severus was quiet for a while. "Brewing."

"Pardon?"

"I brew. Reading does not provide a sufficient distraction, so I brew."

She found herself smiling at his prickly response and reached for his hand, linking her fingers with his before he could protest. "How about talking?"

"Perhaps." Hermione hoped he didn't notice her speeding pulse when he didn't pull his hand away. "What were you reading? Some dry tome on theories to weary you?"

Hermione giggled and situated herself more on the bed with a creak. "No, actually. I find it easier to read fiction or fantasy and get pulled into a story. Sometimes it's romance," she said honestly, absurdly pleased to be sitting in the dark of his room, on his bed. She wondered if he was at all interested in her, and how she could possibly find out. "But usually fiction."

"What sort of fiction do you enjoy?" His thumb feathered absently over her wrist, thrilling her.

"Science fiction, or older stories. I admit to liking Sense and Sensibility and their ilk, but you probably could have guessed that." She let her wand extinguish. "And you? I know you have a ton of books, but you guard your shelves rather jealously."

"I'll read anything, as you know. My pleasure reading I keep in my bedchamber, whereas I keep most of my reference materials in the sitting room." The way his mouth caressed the word 'pleasure' made her shiver. He yawned. "I do not require your presence—you may return to your room for the remainder of the evening."

"I can stay, if you don't mind. You're more interesting than my book." She winced in the darkness. That was a little blatant.

"Doubtful." Could she hear the hammering of his heart? She was so close, he could feel the warmth of her leg by his. _Too close_ , his mind urged, but he quashed it ruthlessly. He wanted her closer.

"Was this evening too much for you?" Her voice was quiet.

"Not overly. Far too much goodwill, and someone needed to have hidden the Ogden's from your friends."

She laughed softly, the sound trilling up his spine. "They're very affectionate drunks. Luna's fairly entertaining, though."

Severus gave a harsh laugh, and Hermione giggled. He gestured, and she felt the Silencing Charm cocoon the room. It was oddly intimate, sitting on the bed with him and laughing. It was rare that he laughed in front of others, but even in the dark, she knew which grooves in his face were from laughter. He did have a sense of humor, after all.

"I find Arthur to be a very honest drunk," Severus replied. "Which makes it all the more amusing to watch his children steer him away from the topic of their mother's radio preferences."

"Warbeck is awful," Hermione whispered, as if Molly would hear it from the next floor and come stampeding into the room to wreak revenge for the slight to her favored singer. "I can't stand her, and the songs are just hideous. Still, Molly enjoys it, and I can't find it in myself to leave the room when it's so nice to see her smile."

They were quiet for a while, listening to the creaks of the Burrow under the weight of the snow. Hermione jolted herself with a sudden shiver. "It's cold."

"Don't be daft, it's December. Of course it's bloody cold," he groused, and moved over in the narrow bed, heart pounding. "Either return to your designated room, or get your arse under the blankets. If you fall ill, you'll never escape here and be force-fed soup 'til it comes out your ears."

She laughed and lifted the foot of the blanket so she could face him. "Beware my toes, they're cold." The footboard pressed uncomfortably into her spine. "Is there a spare pillow I can bother you for?"

"There was a bloody throw pillow, yes..." Severus leaned over her legs, feeling on the floor for where he'd thrown the ratty thing. "Here."

"Thank you." The bed shifted, and she made a sigh of relief. "This is nice; I think my eyes are adjusting to the dark."

He hmm'd in response, staring out the narrow window. It was snowing again.

"What do you dream about?" she asked suddenly, and he scowled darkly.

"That is none of your business."

"I know." She shifted again, her cold toes pressing against his exposed arm. "Ugh, damn robe, all twisted... just a moment... there." Cloth hit the floor, and his mouth ran dry at the sudden thought that Hermione was, one, in his bed, and two, wearing only a nightgown. Merlin help him, the chit had no sense of propriety.

"Do you often barge into people's rooms, shed clothing, and ask them personal questions?" He spat before he could stop the knee-jerk reaction to protect himself. He winced, but her tone was bemused.

"Nope, just yours. Well, I used to sit up with Ron or Harry, back in the Common Room, but that's not the same thing. And the year on the run, I will admit to bunking with them a few times, for warmth if nothing else." She paused. "And, alright, I suppose I may have pestered them with questions when they were particularly peevish, but, no, Severus, not really. My mum says that keeping things bottled up inside isn't healthy, and you've got demons like the rest of us. I just...I just wanted you to know that I'll listen, if you want. I'd like to think that you believe you can trust me."

Jealousy blossomed in his gut at the thought of her curled into Potter or Weasley, even for survival, and he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you have a chance to ask Ginevra about the book?"

"I gave it to her, yes," she replied, sounding tired. "She said she'd look at it tonight, once the eggnog put Harry to sleep. I have to admit, Severus... I'm actually fairly uncomfortable with the books about me."

"Oh?" He raised a brow, even though she likely couldn't see it in the dark.

Hermione scrunched down in the bed until her head was on the throw pillow. "Well... half of them are very much a helpless me being rescued and showering my rescuer with my affections, and that's not so bad. I was looking through some of the others, and they're...a bit more disturbing. More forceful."

"Fantasy only," he said, attempting to reassure her. He hadn't noticed that, but then, he hadn't been really reading for the lack of a plot. He'd look at them again later.

"Maybe. But it makes me rather unsettled." There was something safe about saying the words to him in the dark. "Severus? Can I sleep here?"

"I can leave," he began stiffly, but she cut him off.

"No, I mean... with you. Like when I fall asleep on your couch, only here. It's safer."

"We're in the bloody Burrow," he snarled, but patted her foot clumsily. "If you feel so unsafe, you may rest assured that anyone entering the room will likely find themselves at the end of my wand."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, and he shrugged.

"Go to sleep, Hermione. I am aware that my nose presents a tempting target, but do try not to kick me if you have nightmares." He tried to lighten his tone so she'd know he was teasing, but she snuggled into his legs and sighed softly.

 _Just like my sofa_ , he told himself sternly. How often had Hermione come to pester him, only to lose herself in one of his books she'd filched off a shelf while he wasn't looking and fall into slumber, staying a Saturday night on his small couch in his cottage or the one in his chambers? Often, he knew. 'Safer', she'd said. No one felt 'safe' with him. That was why he spent the majority of his free time alone, was it not? He was a spy and a Death Eater, not to be trusted. The Bat of the Dungeons. And now those ludicrous tales featuring him all had that edge of 'danger'.

 _She sleeps on my couch_. He pondered this, listening to her breathing even and slow. She claimed to suffer from nightmares, but he'd never heard them from her. 'Safe'. Hermione felt...safe with him. Safe enough to chase away her nightmares.

Then again, he mused drowsily as sleep began to grip him, he hadn't had any nightmares while she was nearby, either. If only he knew his feelings would be returned, they could spend more nights with each other...

* * *

"Morning," Hermione muttered sleepily, belting her robe tighter and stumbling down the last few steps. "Happy Christmas."

"Mooooorning," George leered, handing her a mug of tea. "Happy Christmas. Nice robe, 'Mione."

"Thanks?" she mumbled. "Budge over, Gin."

Ginny obliged, pressing closer to Harry, and Hermione plopped into her seat. "Happy Christmas, Hermione. Did you, ah, sleep well?"

"Hmm? Yes, once I got there." She reached for the sugar, dumping in a few spoonfuls and stirring it.

"Nightmares, still?" Harry asked, lips quirking into a smile.

"Not last night, thankfully." Brushing her hair out of her face and pushing up the sleeve of her robe, she lifted the mug to her lips. "Thank goodness for tea...George, stop giggling."

He just grinned back at her and passed the plate of toast to Charlie, who grunted and dunked a piece in his coffee.

"Good morning!" Fleur sang, carrying Victoire into the room, followed by Bill. "Eet is a wonderful Christmas, non?"

Bill dropped a kiss on her head, holding out the chair for her and sitting next to her. "Charlie, your toast is in your coffee again."

Charlie grunted again, but removed the toast, head drooping again. Clearly, the second-oldest Weasley boy wasn't a morning person, either, Hermione thought, sipping her tea carefully. Ron thumped down the stairs next, Susan bouncing cheerfully after him, and Hermione winced. She'd forgotten Arithmancy with Susan-the-morning-person. As much as Hermione had liked the class, she was not one to function well in the morning.

"'Mione?" Ron blinked at her.

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

"Yeah, yeah... new robe?" Ron straddled the chair by Harry, Susan going around the table to sit across him. He started dishing up some sausages and eggs. "Hi, Harry. I'm starving—Mum, is there bacon?"

"Coming up," Molly replied, setting a pitcher of juice between Arthur and her own seat. "Hermione, will Severus be joining us for breakfast?"

She frowned. "I imagine so, he's never missed breakfast at Hogwarts."

Ginny waited for Molly to leave before leaning over. "'Mione, you're wearing his robe."

She choked on her tea at the whisper. _Dammit!_ She glanced down at her sleeve. Yes, definitely a warm, black robe, not her usual dark blue velvet robe she'd picked up on a whim. Mortified, she wondered if she could run upstairs and change before everyone noticed—no, definitely too late, judging by Ron's wary glances and George's knowing grin.

Blushing, she hissed, "Nothing happened."

"Uh-huh," Ginny whispered.

"Shut it, Gin, I'm not joking." The redhead grinned at her mischievously.

"So you told him then?"

"No," Hermione said miserably, then raised her voice. "Pass the jam, please, Ron?" Ron handed it to her gingerly, being careful not touch the robe, and she glared at him, snatching the jam from his hand. "Oh, grow up, Ronald!"

"Good morning, Severus," Molly chirped, returning with the plate of bacon, and the blood drained from Hermione's face. She hadn't even heard him descend the stairs! No one had, judging by the surprised faces of the Weasleys.

"Indeed," he replied, taking the open seat next to Hermione. "I thank you again for your hospitality last evening."

"Oh, it's no problem, we're so glad you finally accepted our invitation!" She bustled about, refilling the toast soldiers.

Severus glanced down at Hermione. "Good morning, Hermione."

"Good morning." She was certain her face was as red as the jam she'd spread on her toast. "Did you sleep well?"

"As well as can be expected in an unfamiliar location. Ah—I see you've found my robe. I'd left it on the back of the washroom door. I seem to have picked up yours by mistake." Relief made her smile, and she offered him the coffee pot, which he accepted. George lost his grin, and Ron looked relieved. _Ouch_ , Hermione thought. Ginny, however, was waggling her eyebrows in a way that Hermione knew spelled trouble in her next letter.

"It's quite comfortable," she said, toying with the cuff of one sleeve. "I'll return it once I'm dressed."

"As you wish." Severus plucked the jam from in front of her and spread it meticulously from edge to edge of his toast.

"Now, Severus, don't be shy, dig in!" Molly spooned several eggs onto his plate as Hermione watched him covertly from under her lashes. His freshly-shaven jaw twitched in annoyance, but he looked marvelous. Clearly, he'd listened to her not-so-subtle nudge towards clothing, because while he still wore his customary black boots and trousers, he'd also worn a black oxford shirt under a dark green jumper. Still severe, yes, but at least slightly more approachable, if not festive. The faint shimmer of a glamour over his neck was only slightly distracting, but no one else seemed to really notice it.

Painfully aware of her own rumpled nightgown, stolen robe, and tangled curls, Hermione hurried through breakfast and made her escape to shower. She wondered if Severus would eat more than he usually did, or if she'd find him grazing from whatever food Molly set out for Christmas snacking before the early dinner.

She snorted as she started the shower, then paused, heat flooding her face and loins. She was wearing Severus's robe. She'd slept next to him, albeit not in his arms, and he was the last one in the shower, and—oh, dear. She sagged down to sit on the loo, wishing for nothing more than a great deal more privacy (along with a Muggle showerhead) and the courage to tell Severus how she felt.

"I'll make it a New Year's resolution at this rate," she muttered, inhaling his fragrance from the robe. Something herbal, smoky, and musk mixed with soap. She sighed. "And maybe this time I'll keep it."

 _Coward_ , her mind reminded her. Feeling rather bitter, she resolutely stripped and stepped under the spray before tears could fall. It would take quite a bit to get her to risk her friendship with him by confessing. _Happy Christmas indeed. Bah, humbug._

* * *

With a slight frown, Severus watched Hermione come downstairs, shower-fresh, her hair restrained in a plait. She looked slightly ill-at-ease, even in what appeared to be comfortable Muggle jeans and a jumper and sensible flats. Surreptitiously, he palmed another quarter sandwich and moved to the edge of the room, munching thoughtfully.

Breakfast hadn't given him any clues, either. She'd sat away from Weasley and next to Ginevra rather than Potter. _Damn_. Even now, she headed to Lovegood, rather than Longbottom or her other imbecilic friends. Perhaps it was simply because the pair had arrived after she'd gone upstairs, he mused, though that was unlikely, as Percy had also arrived and she'd walked right past him and his date. What was the girl's name again? She'd been in Ravenclaw, that he remembered. Something to do with liquid. Pond? River? - Clearwater, that was it. Something Clearwater. Surely, someone would say her name at some point and he'd be saved the annoyance of having to recall it.

Hermione was paying her friends no more heed than she usually did. Which one of them did she care for? It was impossible to glean anything, he shouldn't have come. This was ridiculous. A waste of time. He shouldn't want to be her second choice of wizard, anyway. Scowling, he Levitated a sweet bun from the table, keeping it close to the ceiling to avoid detection before allowing it to drop into his hand. He inspected it for tampering before indulging his sweet tooth.

Over the years, he'd filched several of Molly's sweets at Order meetings, even having gone so far as shrink a plate and take it back to Hogwarts just to finish off the biscuits it held some twenty-plus years prior. Damn—that reminded him, he still had the plate. He just hadn't been able to think of way to return it without incriminating himself.

And it was a nice plate, certainly nicer than anything he'd ever owned at that point. Ah, well, it was a trophy now, he supposed.

Hermione bent next to Ginevra, and he saw the flick of her wand that meant she'd cast a privacy charm for the two of them, none of her attention on his possible rivals. As much as she was talking to the girl, he'd have worried that her affections were for her if he hadn't distinctly heard her using male pronouns to Pince. Ginevra laughed behind the charm, and he watched Hermione swat her in the arm. His eyes narrowed.

Molly hurried into the kitchen, and he inclined his head. "You're welcome to sit in the living room with the rest of us, Severus. Can I get you anything?"

"No. But thank you," he amended. Molly beamed anyway and fixed him a plate, pushing it into his hands.

"She's so happy you're here, by the way. About time." She winked at him before waddling off and Severus frowned, picking morosely at the food. Hermione was happy? And about time what? Just then, Hermione turned, pushing her hair back over her shoulder, and smiled at him. The wisps escaping caught in the firelight and made her look ethereal and angelic; she was so stunning that he nearly dropped the plate as all the blood rushed to his cheeks.

* * *

She never should have come, Hermione thought morosely, stirring cream into the mashed potatoes for Molly. She'd been hoping to spend time with Severus, not watch him brood. She hadn't been able to come up with a reason to stay at Hogwarts and invite him to her quarters, not that she'd decorated for Christmas this year, and if she'd opted to stay and drink with him it would have been far too obvious. After all, he'd been sitting right there when she'd received her invitation, and claiming she'd rather remain with him would have prompted him to reject her.

Still...it was nice to see him. She kept migrating from the others to his side, joining him with a book or mug of mulled cider. He was eating, she noticed, and he wasn't too dour, at least, though he did seem bothered by something. Molly peered over her shoulder, tossed something into the potatoes, and bustled off. Hermione looked into the other room longingly at Severus's stiff back in a lumpy orange arm chair.

Next to her, Susan chopped carrots and made small talk with Ron, making cows-eyes at him while Luna dabbed glue of some sort onto thin paper, sticking random wood shavings to it. If Hermione hadn't known Luna as well as she did, she would have thought the other girl was a core short of a wand.

"Let me take over," Ginny murmured, taking the masher with a knowing smirk. "Go spend some time with the man you love. It's Christmas."

Her teeth sank into her lip. "What about you and Harry?"

"Oh, please." Ginny snorted. "I've had all last night and this morning and this afternoon, you've had a handful of time."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, plucking some biscuits from the table. Nervously, she crossed the room and sat on the edge of the chair, ignoring the looks from the Weasleys (and Harry, who just grinned knowingly at Arthur and moved his bishop into certain death). "Biscuit?"

He plucked one from her hand, closing his new book that he'd been perusing. "Ah, ginger and molasses."

"With the crunchy sugar." She bit into hers with relish, watching as his eyes fell closed and his head tipped back as he chewed. "Your favourite."

George raised an eyebrow, turning away from tinkering with something in garish colors, likely a new product. "'Mione, what's Harry's favourite biscuit?"

"Chocolate chip?" she guessed, frowning.

"And Ron's?"

"Any, I suppose." She glanced into the kitchen, but Ron wasn't listening. "Why?"

"Wrong on both counts," George replied calmly. "Just trying to prove a point. Hey, Neville, hand me that spring?"

Hermione blushed and hastily took another bite. Severus frowned, not quite comprehending. How could she not be certain of her best friend's favourite biscuits? Well, then again, she didn't live with them or see them as often. Instead, she remained at Hogwarts or pestered him. Of course she'd be more likely to know his favourites. With a quiet snort, he took another bite of biscuit, enjoying the moist chewiness with the bite of ginger.

Neither of them noticed Arthur flick his wand, but Severus did notice when Hermione lost her balance and toppled into his lap, her pert bum precariously close to his groin. "Sorry, Severus!"

An eyebrow raised, he assisted her to perch back on the arm of the chair, his hands on her warm waist. "Do not make a habit of it."

Her shoulders sagged, and a look of sadness flitted across her features. _Odd_. George made a rude noise and threw up his hands, storming out of the room, muttering something about density and testing a product.

"Dinner in a few," Molly called. "Wash up and head to the table, if you don't mind!"

Grumbling, they acquiesced, filing into the kitchen and washrooms to clean hands before fighting for seats at the table. Hermione promptly sat herself at one end and snagged Severus's jumper in passing; he dropped into the seat indicated without protestation, feeling more ill-at-ease than he had during presents that morning once they'd all showered and dressed.

As he'd suspected, he hadn't received much, although Molly had forced a jumper on him and Arthur had found it necessary to give him some odd assortment of screws. Hermione had, of course, given him a book he'd had on order at Flourish and Blott's for months, though he was unsure how she'd convinced them to sell it to her instead. Thankfully, no one else had seen fit to bestow anything else on him. Hermione, however, had gotten sweets, a scarf, a necklace of Butterbeer corks (Lovegood), and a jumper, as well the set of quills he'd acquired for her.

He'd treasure her smile, the pleasure in her eyes, for weeks.

"Pardon, Professor," Lovegood said serenely, sitting next to him. "Will you pass the butter, please?"

"You don't even have anything on your plate yet," Ron protested around a mouthful of turkey. Severus grimaced at the sight, but he noted that Hermione looked rather disgusted as well.

"I know." The blonde calmly began painting the butter across her plate. "If you don't put the butter down first, though, the towlies can infect your food, giving you stomach cramps and rather painful gas."

Longbottom just smiled and Severus fought the urge to squirm. Merlin, this was difficult. He hoped that Hermione appreciated that he'd yet to verbally flay anyone as of yet, despite being crammed into such close quarters with so many bloody Gryffindors filled with holiday cheer. He hadn't even sneered...much. Mental diatribes aside, he actually was pleased with his own restraint.

...As soon as this bloody holiday was over, he was going to the damn Room of Requirement and practicing dueling. This was ridiculous.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note** : **PLEASE NOTE I posted an extra chapter on Saturday! If you missed it, go back** What is it with me giving Severus his first kiss on a Christmas? Seriously. I need to stop that habit. (No I don't.) And THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for the comments and reviews, they really feed the muse!

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Panting from exertion, Severus slammed the door to his chambers hard enough to rattle the empty canvas hung on the inner wall and glanced at the clock over the mantle. _Not late enough_ , he thought with a scowl, tossing his jumper onto the couch and dropping into his desk chair and reaching for one of the cans of Muggle soda he kept hidden in the back drawer, layered with cooling charms. It was a nasty habit, he supposed as he pressed the metal to his pale and sweaty chest where his shirt was partially unbuttoned. It probably wasn't the best to be drinking the darn fizzy things, but they were a guilty pleasure. He'd seen them as a child, other children drinking them down, and he'd been unable to acquire one until one trip to Lily's in the summer. They were...a pleasant memory. A reminder that he _could_ acquire things he desired, even if the pleasures brought was short-lived.

He Vanished the now-empty can, feeling moderately better. He probably should have drank that _after_ he calmed down from his bout of dueling in the Room of Requirement, but ah well. At least now he could wallow in the remainder of his sodding miserable Christmas in peace. He'd finally stormed out of the Burrow after a jab by George Weasley, checked on his students, and then attempted to destroy himself with a duel. Anything to block out the memory of Hermione in his bed, or her startled eyes above the dishes she was drying as he took abrupt leave of the 'festivities' despite her calling out to him.

"Well, too bad for her," he groused. She could bloody stay there with her insipid friends and whoever it was she had feelings for while he removed himself from the knowing looks and the surely-mocking whispers. It shouldn't matter to her that he'd left. He even doubted she'd miss him. Anger surging through him and he kicked his legs, feeling petulant, then scrambled to stop the desk from falling and his inkwell along with it.

"Shite!" He'd struck one of the back legs of the heavy desk and the bloody thing had finally snapped off. Just like it had been threatening to for years. At least he could suspend the desk with a charm, and he quickly retrieved a bottle of wood glue from his cupboards. A Reparo wouldn't be strong enough, and even the glue wouldn't hold forever. He'd have to give in and purchase a new desk, he sulked, crawling under the desk to retrieve the leg and dabbing the foul-smelling substance on it.

With a sigh, Severus Levitated the desk just high enough to put the leg into place, then let it settle. He'd wait a count of twenty to be sure it would hold before layering a few strengthening charms to keep it in place til it dried properly. The last thing he'd want to do to top off this wretched holiday would be to drop his desk on his head. With his luck, he'd injure his brain and end up drooling away his remaining days next to Lockhart in St. Mungo's.

He'd just cancelled the Levitation charm on the desk and released the leg to crawl back out when someone pounded viciously on his door and he started, smacking his head on the underside of the desk. He hissed in pain, knowing he'd have a bloody welt, and rose to his feet, storming to the door and yanking it open.

"What?" he bellowed into Hermione's angry little face. Her eyes narrowed and she shoved him back into his rooms, eyes flashing with ire.

"You git! You left me there!" She slammed the door behind her, jabbing her finger repeatedly into the fur of his revealed chest as she forced him backwards until he felt the rise of his couch pressed against the small of his back. "You utter pillock, Severus! What the hell is wrong with you? It's Christmas! You don't pull a stunt like that on Christmas! I mean, honestly! I wanted to spend time with you, and you took off! The least you could have done was said something if you were unhappy or uncomfortable! For God's sake, Severus! Do you know how long it took me to find you, you arse? I had to borrow Harry's Map, and you weren't even on there until a few minutes ago! I _ran_ all the way down here from the bloody Apparition point!"

She shoved him again and he braced himself against the couch, the muscle under his eye jumping in anger, and he finally found his voice.

"Shut up!" Severus roared at her, using his height to his advantage to tower over her. "Merlin's beard, Hermione, do you think I _wanted_ to go to the bloody Burrow? To be stared at and mocked by your precious little friends? I could have spent my holiday here, alone, with a fire and a book, rather than be paraded about in front of a slew of Gryffindors, witch! I was sick of being treated like a sideshow freak, so I left!"

He could almost see his friendship fracturing, crumbling, and the realisation of what he'd said and how froze his heart. He fought to save it. Too little, too late, he feared.

"I only went as a gesture of apology to you," he hissed, trying to keep the venom out of his voice. His nostrils flared in annoyance as she had the audacity to look stricken, then sad, her lovely brown eyes teary. Now, he knew, would be when her eyes turned flinty and she left, taking his heart with her. Indeed, her expression grew determined and he held her gaze. Perhaps he could, at the very least, taunt her into revealing who he'd lost to. "What was I to do, Hermione? Remain a third wheel while you spent your time with those you truly wanted to be with?"

"I wish I'd never invited you," she choked out as her cheeks flushed, and he felt his heart crack. "I wish I'd just turned down the bloody invitation and stayed here."

"Too late," he growled at her, unable to stop the words from coming, to his horror. "Instead of being with who you'd wanted to be with, you ended up with me, you daft bint. So don't you dare shed tears over might-have-beens. _You_ extended the damn invitation. If you didn't want me around for your precious Christmas, perhaps you should have simply said so!"

"Oh, fuck it," she said, startling him with her language. _This is it_ , he thought. _I've done it again. Damn it all._ "Severus, you're a moron, and I'm a coward."

 _What?_ Flummoxed, he lacked the wherewithal to reply.

"I didn't _want_ to be with anyone else! Yes, they're my friends, my family in a way, but—damn it!" Before he could react, Hermione'd reached up and grabbed his neck, pulling him down, and then her lips were on his.

It was clumsy, awkward, his hands fluttering about like a daft bird, trying to decide on the back of the couch or her arms or her waist as his nose rested against her cheek.

And then it was over, far too soon for him to fully catalog the sensations of her soft lips against his, or the way her breath smelled faintly of gingerbread and peppermint. Hermione released him, looking up at him with a mixture of terror and hope.

Severus swallowed convulsively, trying to find his voice, his words. His mind was screaming at his tongue to shape what it needed to. It was _him_. She'd been talking to Pince about him. _He_ was the daft bugger who didn't pick up on the subtle clues, the one who had made it very clear that he didn't want women throwing themselves at him, and Potter had made it as plain as the nose on his face that he'd been in love with Lily Evans. No wonder she'd never said anything...and she was expecting a negative answer that he had no intention of giving. Rather, he'd have to form a reply that he had no experience in speaking.

"Hermione, I—"

"Sorry," she whispered, interrupting him in a stricken tone. "I—I was presumptuous, and I won't bother you. I'm sorry, Severus—"

He caught the hand from which her little bag dangled before she could escape, pulling her against him and caging her in his arms. "Don't go."

"Let go, Severus—this isn't some sort of game!" She looked up at him, her arms pinned between their chests.

"A game?" he growled, eyes flashing. "Treat it as such at your own peril, Hermione. At least let me bloody answer you before you go tearing off in a snit."

She was trembling, and he bent his head to hers, praying to Merlin and any deity listening that he wouldn't bollocks it up. Wouldn't smash his nose in her face or click their teeth together like a fool. He brushed his lips over hers once, twice, before whispering. "Give a man time to bloody process a Christmas kiss, Hermione..."

A soft little sound escaped her and she clung to his oxford shirt, rising on tiptoe to kiss him again. He let her lead, simply enjoying himself. She smelled lovely, she was warm, and Severus held her against him, heedless of the couch digging into his back. Hermione's lips were soft and gentle, initiating hesitant kisses, their mouths parting only slightly for breath.

It was glorious and heady when she wrapped her arms around his neck and tilted her mouth a little more, losing herself, and he forced his eyes open. This close, he could see clearly the smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose, the way her dark lashes fanned out on her pink cheeks. That she was so blissfully unaware of his scrutiny struck him and he closed his eyes again on a groan.

When Hermione pulled back just slightly, he let her, the sight of her little pink tongue on her lips almost more than he could bear. His eyes were drawn, riveted, to the dampness it left as she tasted his kisses—and before he could think, he was bending to her again, brushing his own tongue over her bottom lip.

Merlin, the little moan she made was exquisite, and she darted her tongue to his. Blood was roaring in his ears, rushing from one place to another at the intimacy of it, and he couldn't think anymore. Severus chased her tongue back into her mouth, one hand rising to dig into her plait, partially undoing it in his need to cup her head while he tasted her mouth, kissing her desperately.

Hermione whimpered as the long fingers of one hand edged under her jumper, warm and strong on the small of her back. Severus was everywhere: that scent of herbs and smoke and man with an undertone of sweat, the warmth of his body against hers, the strength of his wiry arms as he held her, the delicious taste of his mouth as his tongue toyed with hers. Kissing Viktor had been pleasant and new. Kissing Ron had been nice and had warmed her to her toes. The chaste kisses goodnight on her other dates had not been pleasant by comparison. This, however...

Kissing Severus was passion and flame, and, God help her, she never wanted to stop. She'd never felt this close to a loss of control. Where his lips touched, she burned. Her body practically hummed with need, and she clung to his neck, terrified that he would devour her. Far too aware of the heat pooling in her, Hermione kissed him back with a small sob. She couldn't stop. He was all-consuming fire and she burned gladly. How had she not known it could be like this? Hadn't she read and researched and listened to the girls gossiping? How hadn't she known that kissing someone could be like _this_?

He finally worked her hair from the braid, the elastic falling to the stone floor and bouncing under a small table. Severus groaned into the kiss, at the feeling of her soft skin under one hand, the way her curls crushed between the fingers of the other. Hermione was delicious and he couldn't stop kissing her. None of his research had mentioned this phenomenon of pleasure from a simple kiss. Was it simply expected by all? He'd never kissed anyone before aside from his mother's cheek, and this was...new. He wouldn't trade it for all the rare ingredients in the world.

When his fingers edged farther up her spine, Hermione pulled back, panting. "Wait," she gasped, eyes wild as he gazed hotly down as her. "Too much, too fast..."

"Apologies," he murmured, loosening his hold. He swallowed, and she watched his slight adam's apple bob, fascinated. His normally-thin lips were slightly puffed and _she'd_ done that. She could even see his pulse pounding in his throat – oh, hell. She hadn't even noticed that his shirt was partially undone, and it took her several moments of staring to realise he was expecting a response.

"It's alright," she managed. "I just...that was a bit intense."

"Indeed." Gently, Severus allowed her to step away, and she mourned the loss of his heat. "A singular experience."

"We can repeat it later." Was it her imagination, or were his eyes darker than usual at her words? His lips curved into a satisfied smirk, and she shivered. "We, um... we should probably talk first. I'm sorry for barging down here..."

"No need," he interrupted. "It is, as you have stated, Christmas. Perhaps we should let it lie, Hermione."

The way he caressed her name with his voice sent her pulse throbbing again and she quirked a smile at him, forcing down passion for reason.

"Alright. I brought your other Christmas gift," she told him in a matter-of-fact tone, moving past him to sit on the couch, hair fluffing out behind her and clinging to the surface with pure static. "I didn't want to give it to you in front of the others, in case they said something inappropriate...oh, and I have your robe, too. It's in my bag."

He joined her cautiously on the battered couch, his body still singing with tension and desire. Hermione turned to face him, her leg curled under her and pressed close to his on the small furniture. Her cheeks were still pinked, her lips full from _his_ kisses...How the hell did she expect him to sit patiently next to her when she looked so bloody kissable?

Hermione opened the little beaded bag, peering inside before reaching into it, disappearing almost to her shoulder. "Darn it... no, get back here...no, that's my toothbrush...Here!"

Triumphant, she pulled out a bundle of black, but the book that fell from it quickly dashed his libido, and he grimaced. _Damn those shoddy books!_ Hermione scowled at it, clearly feeling the same, and kicked the book under his coffee table before placing his robe atop the same table. "You know, I did fold this," she growled. She reached in again, and smiled brightly before retrieving a smallish shiny box with a green bow, which she promptly restored to its rightful size and handed to him. "Happy Christmas, Severus."

Daunted by the box's size, he looked at it apprehensively. What had she done? Why had he only gotten her quills? He was atrocious at this. _Moron_ , he cursed himself, echoing his words from earlier. He should say something – but Hermione was smiling at him, expecting him to open this gift, and he was loathe to break her uneasy joy.

Peeling the bow off, he set it aside and undid the dark green ribbon wrapped around the box. It was a perfectly cheerful light green box with little snowmen all over it – a Muggle cardboard box, stymieing him further. What had she gotten him? Severus set the box lid on the table atop of his robe, peeling back the snowflake-printed tissue paper.

Mystified, he lifted the thick fabric from the box as Hermione moved the rest of the cardboard and tissue aside to make it easier for him, her teeth in her lower lip as she tried to gauge his reaction. _It's a quilt _,__ he thought with a frown. Unfolded, the quilt was slightly lopsided, done in warm shades of green and brown with accents of black. Some of the stitches were uneven, and it was more than large enough to cover his small bed twice – likely a queen size, he thought. He'd never been given a blanket or quilt before, especially not one clearly hand-made, and he glanced up at her questioningly, lips parting, but she began babbling before he could speak a word.

"It's a quilt. Sorry, it's not... it's not perfect. I didn't have time to finish it over the summer and obviously I can't use a sewing machine here, but I remembered that it's always cold in here and you always have a blanket out. I thought that maybe it'd be nice? I don't know. I can do something else, if you'd rather. I didn't mean to be too forward or anything. I-"

"Be quiet," he ordered, watching as her face fell. Why was she so unsure? It was a lovely gift, warm and sturdy and there was no reason for her to doubt his enjoyment of it, was there? Then again, he wasn't a particularly effusive man...

"Come here," he said gruffly, moving the quilt aside briefly to pull her across the couch until they were stretched out along it together as it enlarged slightly, and then draped it over them both. "There. Stop fretting, Hermione. Your gift is more than appreciated. It is...more than expected or than I have received in the past."

Hermione smiled, her head resting comfortably on his shoulder, one hand curled loosely on his chest. "Severus? Do we have to talk about... you know. Us?"

He sighed. "Not really. Are you desirous to?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Well...what now?"

"We continue as we have," he replied, his side warming where she nestled with him.

"But with more snogging." Her tone was mischievous, and he barked a laugh.

"Yes."

"Do this mean you -"

"Do I truly need to say it aloud, witch?"  
 _ _  
__"No, I think I understood your kisses just fine." Hermione had the audacity to giggle.

"Good." He wasn't sure he could force the words out if his life depended on it. "Then I shall expect to inform you via that methodology as oft as you require the affirmation."

"I could use a little affirmation now," she offered hopefully, and Severus turned his head to look at her. Wriggling into a better position, Hermione kissed him gently. He really was a good kisser, she mused. His lips were softer than she'd have thought, and there was a little stubble on his cheeks from the day, just enough to tease.

The slow burn between them made her sluggish and warm until their tongues met and she realised she was undulating against him. Embarrassed, she tried to pull back, but Severus tugged her down again with gentle hands. He didn't force her atop him or press her closer, just kept kissing her. It was like being drugged, Hermione mused between languid kisses. The world was shut out, everything centered on the two of them under the quilt, and the ominous creaking of the couch springs as they shifted.

He didn't make any demands on her, letting her lead, and her heart swelled. Limbs entwined until she could feel his hardness against her thigh and they both moaned at the contact. The burn became fire and their kisses more needy, hands carefully on waists or backs, never straying. By time he pulled back, panting, his sallow cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes slightly glazed, and she couldn't help but feel a bit proud of herself for stealing his normal calm.

"It's late," he said hoarsely, eyes darting to the clock instead of the woman above him.

"It's Christmas," Hermione argued, but pulled back to allow him room to sit up. They sat quietly a moment, regaining control over their desires.

"All the more reason," he countered. His smooth voice lacked its usual cadence. "Tomorrow we had testing planned and will be expected at breakfast, as surely the wards have already informed Minerva that we are both in the building."

She sighed and scooted back, letting the quilt fall to puddle on the end of the couch. "I suppose you have a point."

"If we do not stop now, we may be unable to later," Severus pointed out, rising to his feet. Hermione couldn't contest that and accepted his hand up. "I shall escort you to your rooms, if you wish?"

"Please?" She was loathe to let him go so soon.

They walked arm in arm through the quiet halls, nothing more than the swish of the cloak he'd swirled around his shoulders and her footfalls keeping their soft breathing company. Even the portraits seemed to be asleep.

"I suppose you'll wish to tell your friends about this," Severus said a hallway from her quarters.

Hermione pondered it, sparing him a glance from under her lashes. "Eventually," she mused. "I'd rather like to keep you all to myself for a while first."

He smirked widely and stopped outside her door. "Until breakfast, Hermione." Severus lifted her hand to his lips, her name a caress. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," she breathed back. Where his mouth had pressed burned like a brand, and she held it to her breast. "Good night, Severus."

A sharp incline of his head was his response before he spun on his heel, billowing down the hall. Hermione watched him go with longing. A very happy Christmas indeed. Thank Merlin she'd lost her temper! _ ___


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** I love you people and your reviews. Enjoy your Tuesday update! (Or I close enough to! It's 11:39pm my time. Mwa ha ha.)

* * *

 **Chapter 6**

Severus had slept better the past two nights than he had in far too many years to count—one night sharing a bed at the Burrow with Hermione, and the next curled under the quilt she'd spent such time and effort on after the uncountable kisses on his couch. They hadn't given any indication of the shift in their dynamic at breakfast, nor at lunch, and he doubted even Minerva's sharp eyes would detect a difference at dinner.

Still, he mused as he added another sprig of holly and Hermione made a note of it as he jabbed his wand at the cauldron, it was a...pleasant change. He'd been greeted at his laboratory door by a hopeful Hermione, and she'd seemed pleased with the kiss he bestowed upon her once the door had shut.

Better, the change between them did not seem to interfere with their work. They'd exchanged pleasantries and gotten down to business, checking the cauldrons he'd set before Christmas and beginning preparation for the day's brews. Already, the house-elves had set out a tray of sandwiches on his worktable under a layer of charms, and Hermione hadn't seemed to mind as he worked his way through them.

The magic required to sustain the brews using the charms was nearly doubled, and even he admitted that it was a trifle more taxing than he was used to. Still, as long as he kept up his nutrition, he was able to maintain the proper levels. If he noticed any further strain, he'd have to cut back slightly on the number of cauldrons he had going—but which to pull? One of the test cauldrons or pour out one of the curing brews for Poppy?

Hermione'd offered to take one of the test cauldrons, but he'd shot that down. They were trying to test the efficacy of the charms suggested, which meant as many of the same factors per cauldron as possible, including the same brewer. In fact, they'd argued about it briefly, Severus waving a half-sandwich and raving, while Hermione faced him down with her hands on her hips and her wild hair attempting to escape the clip.

Kissing her into quiet was a treat, however—one particularly vehement comment from her and he'd found his lips twitching in amusement, then he'd dropped his sandwich and kissed her soundly. He'd pulled back to smirk at her dazed look and gone back to his workbench, watching her gape and try to figure out just what had happened.

"That won't work every time," Hermione murmured, handing him the next quill. "Just so you know."

"And until then," Severus replied, speaking in rhythm with his stirs and dropping the quill into the cauldron, "I shall continue to apply the new methodology."

Laughing, Hermione handed him the last quill and marked their progress. "Impossible man."

"Noted."

"Git." Her tone, at least, was fond.

"As you've said, witch." The last quill dropped into the cauldron and they were both quiet as Severus stirred, his lips moving as he counted the seconds. "Thirty." Lowering the flame, he carried the stirring rod to the sink and washed it, scrubbing in brisk strokes. "We have six hours until the next step. Any thoughts on how to fill the time?"

Hermione smiled. "How would you feel about a field trip?"

"Pardon?" That was not the answer he'd been hoping for, she guessed, and grinned.

"I never did tell you what Ginny found, did I?"

"You did not." He was beautiful to watch when he was in his element, tidying his equipment and washing his hands and forearms. She caught a glimpse of the silvered scar of his Mark before he tugged his sleeves down almost shamefully, refusing to meet her gaze. Silly man. Did he really think she gave a Hippogriff's arse? She already knew about the Mark, and didn't care.

Tactfully, she changed the subject. "She mentioned that there was a publisher's address on the book, and a disclaimer, but they'd been replicated enough times that it was difficult to read. Ginny suggested that we ask the clerk for the information."

Severus snorted. "You mean the little shit who ran for cover when I entered the room?"

"Yes. I'm fairly decent at disguise charms—alright, I'm actually very good at them—so we could easily go in and ask."

"You're daft."

"I am not!" Affronted, Hermione snapped the notebook shut and handed it to him. "It's a good plan, and I was more or less hope to take advantage of the fact that it's Boxing Day to buy some discounted chocolate...or books."

Damn. She had him there. Boxing Day sales at Tomes and Scrolls usually netted him an excellent haul of books. A few years back he'd found an excellent book on Potions in the fifteenth century that, while a headache to interpret, had been a rather edifying read. Hermione grinned—the woman knew she'd hooked him.

"I'm not going to be disguised," Severus growled, pushing her out of the lab and locking it firmly behind them and nearly shoving his spare cloak at her. It was well past lunch; if they wanted to traverse the shops and return in time for dinner they'd need to hurry. Hermione laughed at him and flicked her wand at herself, then at him, casting a Warming Charm so strong it nearly melted his toes.

"And have the clerk dash off again? I think not. You'll either let me disguise you, disguise yourself, or you're not coming in," she informed him bossily, leading the way through the castle at what for her was almost a trot.

Students glanced at them in passing, but did not make eye contact with either professor. It wasn't unusual to see them walking a patrol together, and the older students were all well-aware that Professor Granger flitted out of the castle each Boxing Day only to return laden with scrolls.

"I'll buy you a new jar of ink at Scrivenshaft's," Hermione wheedled. Severus's lips thinned at her blatant attempt at bribery. He'd hold out for two jars, he thought to himself, then insist on the high-quality black ink he preferred for inking his research into permanent journals.

"Please?"

He didn't answer her.

"Two jars?"

"My choice of ink?" He asked silkily, pretending to consider it. Hermione walked backwards, eying him thoughtfully, then nodded. "Very well. I shall think upon your offer and inform you of my decision by time we reach the gate. Acceptable?"

Hermione made and exasperated sound. "Nope. Final offer. Going once..."

Severus scowled at her and grabbed her arm before she could walk into an opening door.

"Going twice." The chit had the nerve to grin at him.

"Going _three_ times, Severus. Two bottles of your choice of ink— are you in or out?"

"Fine," he snarled, feeling pleased that he'd gotten his way. Hermione beamed and turned around to walk straight once more just as they hit the courtyard, snow crunching underfoot.

"Good. We both win, then."

 _Cheeky witch_ , he thought. He hadn't gotten the best of her, then. Well, damn. Where was the fun in that? _At least I acquire new ink out of the bargain._

"It's just for the first stop," Hermione said quietly once they were well out of earshot of the castle, breath steaming. "Then we'll cancel the charms and enjoy our pleasure-shopping."

"Preferable," Severus replied, grateful for her Charm. It was cold enough for the top layer of snow to have iced over, and he was certain that without the Warming Charm he wouldn't be able to feel his nose. "And please refrain from making this a bad spy movie, complete with backstories and false names," he told her dryly. "Just go in, ask, and get out."

She threw her head back and laughed, hands jammed into her jean pockets for warmth. "I had no such intention until you suggested it." He gave her a look of raw distaste. "Honestly, Severus, no, I just wanted to make it a quick trip. The bookstore awaits, after all."

"Indeed."

They paused at the gates and Hermione pulled out her wand, flicking it at herself first. In no time, she was a muddy-blonde with short hair that was only slightly pretty with fuller lips and a turned-up nose.

"You've used that particular disguise before," he commented. Hermione nodded and pointed her wand at him. "Don't you dare make me look like a ponce."

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied blithely. Severus waited for the charms to tweak his appearance to suit her. "Thank goodness you're wearing a jumper today. If you'd been in your normal attire I'd have to glamour you. It's very distinctive."

"And comfortable," he complained. His hair, now a thick dark brown, spilled far past his shoulders, and he distastefully felt a mustache on his upper lip. "Come, let us complete this fool's errand before I claw this...thing...off my face."

"I hate having short hair," was her reply and they trudged purposefully up the path, making a beeline for Puddifoot's. The shop was empty and they crossed the age line into the back room without difficulty, the beaded curtain clacking irritatingly behind them.

"'Ello! Back again?" The boy behind the counter greeted them with a smile, and Hermione paled as she realised her error. It was the same ruddy clerk! And she—oh, hell. Next to her, Severus raised an eyebrow.

"Again?" He murmured in a silken undertone, and she gave him a quelling look.

"Yes, sorry. I had a question. There's a thing on the back of one of my books," Hermione said, ignoring Severus. "It looks like the publisher's address, but it's illegible, and I was wondering if I could get a copy of what it says? I'd love to try to submit my own work."

"Of course, not a problem. Some of the copies have been well, copied, too many times. Common problem." The clerk fished around for a grubby scrap of parchment and a self-inking quill. "It's a mail box in Diagon Alley, perfectly anonymous, don't worry—and, of course, seventy percent of the net profits go directly to Hogwarts."

"To Hogwarts." Hermione repeated blandly.

Severus, thankfully, was thumbing through one of the little books and didn't reply, though he glared at the book in his hands, skimming the pages for no reason other than to avoid throttling the clerk. Dear Merlin, the writing was terrible... _'oh, god, you're going to split me in two! Your turgid cock is so massive, Professer!'_ Honestly, what drivel. And who the hell would 'shutter in pleasure'. When had the term 'defiant' mean a positive yes? Did no one edit these? It was almost tempting to take quill to paper and grade them. Wait. Well, that would prove useful if he caught students writing these in class. Hopefully that would mortify them enough to stop them... it was worth the attempt.

"Yup! Great cause for a little..relaxation, eh?" The clerk winked at them and Hermione took the parchment gingerly—Severus wondered where the dirty little thing had been and if it would be in poor taste to use a Cleansing Charm on it.

"Thanks."

"Not a problem. Hope to see you two back soon, we have some great items for couples if that Pocket Professor isn't working out for you!"

Severus nearly stormed from the shop and Hermione hurried to keep up with him. _Damn him and his long legs_ , she thought as she got out of the shop to find he'd already bloody disappeared on her. Assuming left towards the bookstore was the best guess, she was rather startled when she was yanked into the alley. Her spell hit his Shield Charm with a spark and he scowled at her.

"I would prefer my nose to remain unbroken by your ill-conceived notion to attack me."

"Don't grab me and pull me into an alley without warning," Hermione countered, flicking her wand at herself first to remove the disguise. Severus's shield shimmered as it dropped and she removed his, too, happy to see his normal visage once more, though his customary scowl a bit more defined than normal.

"Would you care to enlighten me as to what that was all about?" he hissed.

Hermione frowned. "We got the address, and found out that proceeds go to Hogwarts? Curious, that, really...Do you think they donate anonymously? Could Minerva tell us who it is?"

"That is not what I meant!" Severus snarled at her, and she raised her eyebrows at his tone. "He said 'again', Hermione. You made a ruddy purchase! A bloody thing based on _me_!"

She flushed to the roots of her hair. "I'd rather it was based on _you_ than Harry or Ron," she snapped, shaking her wand in his face. "I didn't buy the damn thing because it was based on you. I bought it because one, sometimes I don't have the energy to do it myself, and two, it actually works inside of Hogwarts since my normal one doesn't! Don't you dare try to shame me, Severus!"

His mouth opened, then closed, and he lowered his eyes and looked away. "I did not mean to imply that you should feel shame," he managed. It clearly cost him a great deal of effort to get the words out and Hermione sighed softly as he continued. "I apologise. I merely meant -"

"That it's awkward? Agreed." She turned his head to look at her again. "I didn't mean to tell you how I felt for a long time, Severus, if ever, because I didn't think you'd feel the same way. When I ran back to purchase it, it wasn't because it was in the section based on you—although that was certainly a point in its favor—it was because it was a little vibrator that would work. I apologise for overreacting. Now. If we're done being mad at each other, I owe you some ink."

"Wait," he rumbled, pulling her back to him before she could leave. Her quick acceptance humbled him, and he bent to kiss her gently, trying desperately not to think of Hermione using a vibrator. He'd seen enough late-night telly to have a fairly decent imagination. "There. Now we may continue our shopping excursion."

Grinning, Hermione kept pace beside him as they moved quickly to Tome and Scrolls. She could always order the ink by owl post or come another weekend—there was a _sale_ on books. Much more important, and Severus thought the same, as he didn't even spare a glance at the windows of Scrivenshaft's.

They both inhaled as soon as their feet hit the doorway—that almost vanilla-scent of books and pine shelves was a perfume for both bibliophiles—and they split without words, perusing the discount bins and shelves.

It was easy to lose time in a bookstore, and they caught each other's eyes often with soft smiles (Hermione) or placid expressions (Severus), grounding each other. It wouldn't do to be late to dinner, although Severus was in danger of giving up his book hunt and outright staring at her, trying very hard to be a gentleman and not envision the object of his affections naked in her bed—or his—writhing in pleasure.

"Here," Hermione said suddenly, handing Severus a thick leather-bound book and startling him from his reverie. "I don't think you have this one?"

He Levitated his current pile and took the book from her with a glance at her heavily-laden arms. "I do not." He gently opened it and turned the pages. Potions, yes, with several interesting-looking poisons illustrated as well. It looked to be in Italian; he'd have to either have it translated or use a charm. Still, it looked promising, and the price was low enough to make it worth it. He did some quick math in his head. It would have to be the last book on his pile, however. "Thank you."

She smiled and adjusted her books. "Are you finished? I don't think I'll be able to fit any more onto my shelves after these, and I'm not going to pop out to my flat just to drop books off or try to wrangle another bookcase out of Filch."

Severus glanced around one more, hesitating as his traitorous mouth nearly offered her one of his own coveted spare shelves. Why the hell was he being so open with her lately? "Yes. Do we have time for Scrivenshaft's?"

Laughing, Hermione lugged her pile to the counter. "Yes, you'll get your damn ink." She smiled at the delicate blonde clerk. "Never let a Slytherin allow you to bribe them. They always get the better end of the bargain."

The blonde smiled nervously with a glance at Severus and handed Hermione her change. "Don't I know it—my brother was sorted Slytherin. I was Ravenclaw, myself."

Hermione grinned widely. "Oh, I don't need a bag, but thank you. Here, sorry, I'll move out of the way."

She rang Severus's purchases as Hermione began shoving books into her small bag. "Severus? Would you like me to put your books in here, too?"

"If it will not be any trouble," he replied, counting out the sickles from his pouch. Exact change, as always. The books quickly disappeared into Hermione's bag, and his brain ran amuck again. Had she placed the vibrator she'd bought in that bag? Merlin's beard, she'd had underthings in there. Were they unpacked? Were his books potentially brushing against knickers? Thankfully for the clerk, Hermione was personable enough for the both of them, what with waving goodbye and wishing her a good remainder of her holidays while Severus was lost in thought until she dragged him from the shop.

Scrivenshaft's, at least, was a quick trip, and he almost recanted his choice of ink when she grimaced at the price. "Wait," he managed as she picked up the second bottle. He plucked it from her fingers and handed her a jar of the red he used for grading. "Any two, you said. My choice."

Hermione looked at him searchingly, but nodded and made the purchase. He was counting himself fortunate that she didn't mention it—they were halfway back to the school when she opened her bloody mouth.

"You changed your mind. Why?"

Severus flushed, thankful he could blame it on the crisp twilight air. "It would have been petty and churlish of me to insist."

"Not really. I was actually figuring you'd pick the more expensive ink, Severus, when I made the offer. You're running low, and I _know_ you hate buying things."

He looked at her sharply. There was no way she could have known that. Absolutely no way. "I would advise you not to make assumptions, Hermione."

"Not an assumption," she told him cheerfully. "I've been your friend and your coworker for a bit now. And as you have been keen to point out in the past, I am 'far more observant than the rest of my Gryffindor counterparts'."

Severus struggled with this bit of information. Just how much did she know about him? He didn't _like_ people watching him, scrutinizing him. In fact, he'd spent a great deal of time and effort to avoid it. The more people knew about him, the more easily they could use their knowledge against him—as Lucius had on several occasions, and Narcissa as well. Hell, _Lily_ had used it against him. He just had to hope and pray that Hermione was not of their ilk, and would treat his trust with more care.

Beside him, she was oddly quiet, casting him worried looks she likely thought he did not notice. Clearly, the woman expected an answer, and he steamed out a heavy breath. "Walk faster. We will be cutting it close for our return to school, and I do not wish to be caught out in the cold if Minerva takes exception and locks us out of the castle."

She laughed. "And she would, too, even on Boxing Day! Unless we had made it to Honeydukes and could bribe her with ginger newts."

Almost against his will, Severus's lips tugged into a smile, and her hand entwined with his, the beaded bag bouncing on her wrist. _Yes_ , he thought, trying to stem the rising panic at her nearness. _For all her flaws, she is not like Lucius or Narcissa, and not even like Lily. Hermione will not use her knowledge to manipulate me._

He hoped.

* * *

Dinner was interminable. She was doing it on purpose, he knew it. Yes—there the witch went again, her pink lips wrapping around a spoonful of ice cream as she conversed with Longbottom and his paramour. Damn her. Hermione surely knew what effect she had upon him, and yet she continued to ignore him, eating her bloody dessert as if she was some sort of food-centered siren. He could feel her eyes on him on occasion, and knew she was making him uncomfortable intentionally.

Severus gripped his fork so tightly he wasn't surprised when the metal began to cut into his hand, and he forced himself to put the utensil down without stabbing it into the remnants of his suddenly-unappetizing chicken.

Worse, he was trapped here by his own physical reactions. The table hid a myriad of sins, but were he to rise his condition would be come apparent. _Is this what a handful of kisses have reduced me to?_ he wondered, annoyed. He wanted to return to his lab and prepare the next steps for testing the Alacrity Exumen potion they were trying the charms on. He wanted to ask her what the clerk had written on the slip of parchment so they could be a step closer to putting an end to that nonsense.

Growling, he picked his fork back up only to stab it into his meal. _Focus_ , he told himself, drawing up his Occlumency walls. _Potions. You cannot maintain the cauldrons without intaking proper nutrition._ He managed five bites, studiously ignoring Hermione, who was now caressing her goblet absently. Swallowing the last bite in distaste, Severus looked down at his plate. It had gone cold, and he warred between reviving it with a charm, leaving it, or forcing himself to finish. He hated cold dinners, but was unable to actually allow food to go to waste.

Cursing himself, he forced himself to keep eating, mechanically cutting bites and moving them to his mouth. If he'd waited this long to eat his dinner, he didn't deserve to cast a Warming Charm on it, and would simply have to suffer through it. Bloody unappetizing mass of mashed potatoes and green beans and cold chicken breast, the once-succulent juices congealing on his plate...

Next to him, Hermione glanced once more at Severus's stony profile before turning back to Luna's tale—something about South America. She'd been laughing on auto-pilot when Neville did, every fiber of her being longing to drag Severus off to her quarters—or his, she wasn't picky—to sort through their new books, discuss the smut stories, and for god's sake snog the man senseless.

It was torture, sitting through a dinner she picked at before realising she'd be tasting of garlic and onions. She quickly moved to dessert. Yes, better—chocolate and whipped cream and cool vanilla ice cream. It occurred to her that she'd never seen Severus partake of dessert in the hall. Did he like ice cream? Every time she glanced at him, he was avoiding her gaze. Well, too bad: _she_ liked ice cream, and she was so aware of him two seats down that she was forcing herself to eat each bite slowly. If she finished eating, she couldn't promise that she wouldn't drag him off.

Oh, hell. The spoon nearly fell from her fingers. The potions. There would likely be no snogging tonight, or at least not until after they'd completed their work. _Damn_. She frowned, then took another spoonful of fudge, smiling at Luna, nodding.

 _Finish the story so I can leave_ , Hermione thought uncharitably. It wasn't that she wasn't interested in the story, more that this...whatever-it-was...with Severus was so new that she wanted it for herself. She wanted to hide away with him, reading and chatting and brewing potions in between kisses.

She stole another glance at Severus, methodically eating his dinner while glaring at it as it if had personally offended him, and she took another bite of ice cream. Dinner would end soon, it had to. If not, he would eventually excuse himself and she'd follow after with the excuse of potions.

Soon.

She hoped. __


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I...I am so very not very sorry for this chapter. Thank you all so very much for all of your reviews! They really make me happy and totally feed the plot bunnies! And yet another shameless plug... I have an Etsy shop by the name of Stitchumsempra. I make pillowcases, and I have Advanced Potion-Making cases..and all sorts of nerdy awesome patterns! Even if you can't buy one, tell your friends! I could use the help.

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

Somewhere, a chime sounded faintly, and Hermione twisted away with a frown, panting for air. "Severus?"

"Merely a ten minute warning," he murmured, moving to her neck now that her lips were denied him and pressing gentle kisses to her warm skin. "There will be two others. Think nothing of it, Hermione, we have time enough..."

"Mmm," she made a noise of content, tugging on Severus's hair to demand his mouth on hers once more. He smirked, acquiescing to her with a soft exhale. God, he tasted divine... like the tea he'd offered her when they'd finally escaped dinner, an under-taste of honey and lavender...

He cupped her cheek, lazily exploring her mouth, and Hermione moaned softly. Severus was a fantastic kisser. Granted, she mused as he sucked her tongue into his mouth and making her arch up into him, he'd been a bit hesitant at first...Her thoughts scattered just as his fingers edged up under her jumper once more.

One of them made a little purr as they broke apart, Severus's hands sliding under her jumper and to her back, his mouth on her neck once more. His hands were _warm_! So warm! Hermione shifted under him, trying to wrangle her own hands to the buttons on his coat to no avail. She was pinned, uneven teeth placing tiny bites on her collarbones and soft sucking kisses on her throat... Something chimed again and this time it was Severus who lifted a head, his nostrils flaring.

Impatient, Hermione tugged him down again. How dare he stop! If he slid his hands up higher he could unfasten her bra...or he could bloody well help her out of her jumper! "Not now," Severus murmured, his eyes dark and regretful. "We have potions to see to, Hermione."

Damn the potions, her nipples were hard and she desperately wanted his mouth on them. He smirked and she gaped at him. "You git! Get out of my mind."

"I have no need," he told her, kissing her hard and briefly. "It's written across your face, whatever lascivious little thing you're thinking." Severus sat back with a creak of couch springs, the only signs that he'd been snogging her the heat in his eyes and the crooked cravat. Hermione wrestled her jumper back down and tried to tame her hair, cheeks hot.

They both took the time to catch their breath, careful not to touch each other lest they begin again. Chimes sounded once more. "Two minutes to return to the lab. Are you joining me, Hermione?"

"God, yes," she managed, nearly leaping from her seat to follow him. The sooner the current batches were done the sooner she could kiss him again. She'd loved having him over her on the couch, feeling the warmth of his body, the press of his buttons, and the very promising erection he'd definitely had. _How long was too soon for sex_? she wondered, snagging the stylo for taking notes as Severus raised the flames under his cauldrons. _The same night? The next day? A week?_ The very thought of having something—someone—between her legs that wasn't run on batteries or magic thrilled her. She'd even take fingers or tongue if she couldn't think of a reason to wrest him out of his clothes. Hermione wondered if she was moving too quickly—alright, so she was enamored with him, attracted to him... She should probably slow down. Severus wasn't Two-Dates-and-it's-good Ron, and he wasn't waiting-til-he-married Viktor, and he wasn't the hot-damn-I-want-to-shag-a-heroine type like she'd seen before, either. Well, she mused, just because _she_ was ready to move onwards in the bedroom arena didn't necessarily mean he was.

Severus was the slow-moving type, she'd wager, listlessly jotting down his observations, her body on auto-pilot while her brain wandered. Hesitant kisses, moving to her back rather than her breasts... Damn. Ah, well, Hermione mused with a rueful smile. She could wait for him. His kisses and caresses were absolutely lovely, making her feel heated and cherished. At the very least, she had nights in her quarters with her Pocket Professor.

"Hermione? Are you listening?" Startled, she dropped the stylo to the stone floor with a clatter and it rolled under the workbench. Severus frowned down his nose at her, raising an eyebrow before Summoning it to his hand. "You will have to forgive the moment of male satisfaction, but have I rendered you incapable of coherent thought?"

Blushing, she shook her head wordlessly, then gave him an impish smile. "No, sorry; just distracted. You'll have to try harder."

He hummed in amusement, handing her the pen once more. "Do attempt to keep your mind focused," he purred. "There is always...after."

Mouth opening and closing, Hermione took the offered pen and stared at him with a shiver as he turned back to his cauldron. She was fairly certain that her knickers were soaked from those short sentences alone.

* * *

And to think, term had resumed just yesterday.

Hermione patiently watched her students as they wrote out lines, silently fuming. She'd caught one of her students _writing_ one of those sordid stories—thankfully about Harry—so she'd decided that rather than simply confiscating the parchment and punishing the student, she'd take away the parchment without a word and make the entire class write out 'I will not write non-class-related material in Professor Granger's class' fifty times apiece. Better, she'd cast a quiet handling charm on the parchments. When she returned them to Mister Scott after class, she'd know exactly who touched the parchments within the next three months— _that_ should help her and Severus trace them, she thought smugly.

Ah, Severus... the thought of him made her smile softly and she ducked her head before anyone could see. A glance at the clock on the far wall told her that there was ten minutes left in class. Ten minutes until she could escape to her quarters for some alone time.

* * *

Almost giddy with exultation at some privacy, Hermione pushed the door behind her to close it and made a beeline for her bedroom, discarding clothing as she went. Her shoes ended up under the coffee table and her robes over her couch, and she pushed off her remaining clothes to puddle at her feet before climbing onto her bed and reaching under her pillow for the little black vibrator.

With a particularly naughty grin, she lay back, plumping her pillows up behind her and closed her eyes. After last night, she _definitely_ needed this. Hermione shifted until she was more comfortable, breathing deeply. _Think_ , she thought. _Remember the feel of him, the taste of him..._ All of her past fantasies were going to pale in comparison to this one, she knew. Now she knew the weight of him over her, the very texture of his hands, and the way his lips felt on hers. _This is going to be so good_.

Hermione cupped her own breasts, trying to imagine the hands she'd felt on her back cupping them, his rough thumbs rubbing her nipples. Or pinching them... she pinched them herself with a soft sigh. Oh yes, just like that. She couldn't wait for Severus to touch her this way. It was a shame that his room at the Burrow had been so dark, preventing her from seeing him completely bare, but his chest had looked bloody delicious through his partially-unbuttoned shirt on Christmas Day.

She'd always been a sucker for a man with chest hair, and Severus's pale skin and dark hair was a striking contrast. Would he be soft? Or crisp? She knew his chest was firm—what was his stomach like? Did he have one of those mouth-watering treasure trails? _It's my imagination so he does_ , she decided. Strong legs were likely, she thought. He was slim and wiry—perfect for entwining herself with...

Imagining his kisses, the long line of his nude body pressed along hers as he touched her made her belly clench, heat pooling. She'd already spent most of the day on edge and hungry for more of his kisses, of his silky voice murmuring her name, but the dampness she found when she dipped her fingers between her thighs surprised her.

Biting her lip, she reached for the toy, whispering the incantation to turn it on. It was a quiet sound, the vibrations muffled by the layered spells, and she pressed the little black thing to her labia teasingly. Her legs jerked—it tickled pleasantly and she forced herself to relax, withholding direct contact to where she wanted it. _Severus would tease me_ , she thought, her breath coming quicker. _He already does, the way he nibbles on my neck...mmm, yes..._

The toy dipped lower and she tried to follow it, her eyes tightly shut as she tried to capture his voice in her head. The Pocket Professor just brushed her clit and she cried out softly at the sudden pleasure of the vibrations. God, when was the last time she had been that sensitive?

Feeling wicked, she lightly pressed the toy against herself with a whimper, then slid it down to her entrance, slicking it with her own arousal. Her own mental narrative almost made her snicker, right until the toy made direct contact with her clit and she arched, gasping, as her focus shattered. This was why she had missed having an aid. On her own, arousal was easy, but bringing herself to orgasm? It took ages! But this, oh, _this_! Instead of trying to quiet her mind and let herself relax, she was tensing already.

Tendrils of warm pleasure were spreading, giving her mental images of vines creeping along her limbs, embracing her and filling her with warmth. Then it was clouds, feeling herself travel higher and higher with the sensations.

It felt so good she wanted to sob. Indeed, she inhaled on a shudder, the image of Severus, the feel of his teeth on her skin, pushing in again. Her toes were curling, breath coming in pants as she trembled. Oh, God, yes, she felt amazing... "Severus," she moaned, moving the little toy in circles. She should really do this more often—or encourage Severus that he was more than welcome to join her.

Hermione shuddered—Severus touching her? His body on hers? Dear _God_ , yes! She could feel her nipples tightening and spared a hand to pinch them gently. Everything in her was tensing—her blood sang as her heart pounded in her breast and clit. She could feel her body getting tighter and tighter. Images flashed in her mind—his grudging half-smile, his hands as he stirred, the partially-undone shirt, the way he bent his head forward to hide his face with his hair... Gorgeous, gorgeous Severus... Hermione whimpered, her hips jerking helplessly.

Heat suffused her face, her chest, and she was throbbing, rocking against the little toy. "Severus," she keened into the quiet room. "Oh, God, _Severus_..."

Everything was narrowing to the pulse pounding between her legs and she was writhing, shaking, keeping her hands where they were—one pinching a nipple so tightly it was turning slightly purple, and the other holding the toy ruthlessly to her clit. The vibrations had her so tense, so close, she was almost there... It was like climbing a mountain and losing the final handhold before you could pull yourself up... Oh, God, so close, almost almost almost—

The toy died and she _screamed_ with frustration, a wordless cry of loss.

 _No! I was so close!_ Hermione threw the toy aside and instead of Summoning her favoured dildo from its hiding place she slicked her fingers—when the hell had she gotten so wet?—before sliding them briefly inside herself. _So tight_ , she marveled, awkwardly curling her digits up. _So good..._ Wishing fervently that Severus was there, she rubbed herself inside, hearing her pulse hammering so loudly in her ears that she thought she may well burst.

Abandoning her nipple she used her other hand to toy with her clit, uncaring that the graceless contortion she found herself in spread her thighs almost obscenely just so she could fulfill her pleasure. Feet finding purchase on the bed, Hermione sobbed—it felt so good! _Oh, yes, yes, there!_

She threw her head back as her body shook. She wanted Severus. She wanted him there, inside her, beside her, surrounding her with his arms, his scent, his body, his voice... Her mind skittered to fevered fantasies of him, envisioning the two of them wrapped together in various positions, inventing expressions of pleasure on his face... She wanted him to come with her... "Hermione!"

Her world exploded into white as she swore she heard him calling her name, and she shouted his name in reply—her name came again as she shrieked, jerking and pulsing as she cried out for Severus, pleasure consuming her. Vaguely, she heard a thump and wondered just what she'd knocked over as she gasped for air, for sanity, shivering with little aftershocks.

Panting, Hermione sat up desperate for a drink of water and reached for her wand—then froze.

"Severus?" What in the bloody hell was he doing passed out on her floor? Leaping off the bed, Hermione snagged a sheet and twisted it around herself before kneeling to check on him. Unconscious, definitely. And he'd hit his head on her table, warm blood sticky against her hand. "Shit, shit, shit!"

How much had he seen? Oh, how mortifying! Cheeks red, she Levitated him to her bed and began checking him over. A quick healing spell mended the laceration to his head, a Tergeo tidied the blood from him, her bed, and the floor... His vitals were steady, at least—including the rather impressive tenting of his trousers, and she blushed darker. _Don't ogle him right now_ , she chided herself.

"...How did you get in?" Frowning, Hermione moved to her chamber door. "Damn it!" It hadn't closed apparently, for it had been merely pushed open, rather than forced. Which meant she _had_ heard him calling out for her.

Damn, shit, and bugger. She closed the door properly, her various wards falling into place, and she locked the door just to be certain of privacy. Thankfully it had been Severus bursting in, not a student! She flushed again, knowing _exactly_ what he had seen and heard. When the hell had he barged in, anyway? Not that she would have noticed, but still. Mortified, Hermione grabbed her clothes and practically fled for her washroom.

Oh God—he'd seen her oddly contorted, not sexy at all! How was she supposed to convince him of her allure when he'd seen her red and bent all funny? Damn it! Fighting back tears, she washed her hands, scrubbing vigorously to cleanse herself of her own liquids. This wasn't how she'd envisioned him seeing her naked for the first time. She'd pictured his piercing gaze upon her as they undressed each other, murmured compliments and gentle caresses—not being burst in upon and having him bloody well nearly concuss himself!

Finally clean, Hermione struggled into her clothes, snapping herself with a bra strap hard enough to make the tears actually fall. He'd passed out: didn't he like the way she looked? Was the scarring between her breasts that bad? Was it...down there? Did she look different from everything he'd seen before? Oh—that was it, wasn't it? She looked weird! Humiliated, she sat heavily on the loo, trousers unbuttoned and her blouse held loosely in her hands. Alright, so she'd never gone around looking at other women's bits. Were hers really that awful? She _thought_ she'd looked normal... perhaps not?

No, that was daft—everyone was different. So, it must be her overall appearance. Was it the scars? Silly, he'd known she had them. So, appearance couldn't be it. Hermione sighed, trying to figure it out. After several minutes, she considered that she had come awfully hard. Perhaps her magic had automatically protected her in such an intimate situation and knocked him over? Yes! That had to be it. Severus wasn't repulsed by her, Hermione told herself cheerfully as she recalled the erection in his trousers, buttoning the blouse over her breasts. She was still embarrassed, of course, but at least it was explainable. (A long shot, but explainable.) Or perhaps Severus himself could shed a bit more light on things when he woke.

Biting her cheek, Hermione peeked out the washroom door. His black-clad figure was still unmoving on her bed and she sighed in relief. Okay, good. This was still salvageable. He hadn't woken and taken off, and wasn't sitting there glowering towards the washroom door, lying in wait to snap at her. A flick of her wand sent her discarded robes to the peg on the door before she checked his vitals again. They were fine, thankfully.

Perching on the edge of the bed, she waited, watching. Then she shifted around. Should she simply wait for him to wake? Rennervate him? Should she be on the bed? Bring in a chair? Finally, she figured it would be best to try to bring him around and sat by him on the bed and Conjured a damp cloth. Gently, she pressed it to his forehead.

* * *

Something cool and wet was pressed to his forehead, he noted as he stirred. His head throbbed, aching... What the hell had happened? Severus frowned, trying to remember, but was interrupted by the something wet patting his cheeks and a soft female voice murmuring to him. It was warm, the mattress beneath him was rather comfortable...and the smell... He shot awake, flushing as the scent registered and memory returned, sitting up suddenly before shouting in pain as his nose met a very hard head.

"Ouch!" Hermione exclaimed next to him. "You're awake—and, oh, bugger, your nose is bleeding. Here, let me, no, it's okay—"

"Hermione," Severus said firmly as he tried to sit up, snatch the flannel, and keep his nose from dripping blood down his frock coat all at once. His head pounded and he groaned, pressing the cloth to stem the flow. She was still attempting to 'assist' him, so he reverted to his very best authoritative classroom voice. "Sit down and close your mouth."

She subsided instantly and he smirked ruefully. _If only that worked half as well the rest of the time she's nattering on._ Hermione watched him as he cautiously moved the cloth away before flicking a hand towards his nose: with a small snap and wince, his proboscis mended itself. He discarded the cloth with a sneer, trying very hard not to think about why his arse felt damp. "Now then. Care to explain?"

"I was hoping you could," Hermione replied with a blush. "I was in my room, and, well, when I came to, you were here and you'd passed out."

Cheeks heating, Severus scowled. "I was on my way to the Owlery when I heard a scream. Your chambers are the only ones in this vicinity." Her lips pursed, but she allowed him to continue. "The door was not shut all the way, and I thought I heard you calling out, so I entered. Needless to say, you were not in need of assistance. I apologise for my intrusion."

He would be damned if he'd comment further.

"And what? You just... passed out?" Her face creased in an expression he wasn't quite familiar with seeing on her, but she looked almost unsure of herself.

"There may have been mitigating factors involved," he told her, looking away from her brown eyes. What was he supposed to say? 'Hello, Hermione—you have such a lovely cunt that the blood rushed from my head to my cock, introducing me rather rudely to your floor'?

"Oh."

They sat in awkward silence for a while, until Severus rose from the bed. Almost immediately he remembered that his arse was damp—damp and now _cold_. His mouth nearly dropped open, but he maintained composure as he asked, "Hermione, may I use your washroom?"

"Of course. It's right through there." She gestured and he strode over to it as quickly as possible to hide the evidence. No need to mortify the girl further, after all. The door shut behind him with a click and Severus grimaced, turning awkwardly to see his backside in the mirror. The wool of his trousers had clearly soaked in Hermione's arousal. His face flushed and he fought the urge to remove the article and bury his nose in her intoxicating scent. He hadn't even been aware that women created as much of a mess as a man could. Merlin knew he'd cursed the damp patch on his pants numerous times as a teen...

Almost regretfully he charmed his trousers, robes, and frock coat clean and dry once more. Taking the chance to relieve himself, he frowned. This wasn't what he'd expected today at all. He'd expected to see her in the laboratory tonight after dinner, not to burst in upon her during her private moments! No wonder she was acting oddly. If he'd been caught during orgasm he'd be rather discomposed himself.

Still, he mused as he washed his hands, she was bloody gorgeous. He couldn't have imagined her with such accuracy...she was lovely. Those curves! The way she flushed and arched and—damn. He shook himself, pushing the arousal that surged back down, and dried his hands. It was several calming breaths before he'd buried the incidents and accompanying reactions with Occlumency.

Hermione was sitting on the bed, cheeks rosy and the bedspread looking perfectly clean and dry. "I apologise again," he said stiffly, jaw tight. "Will I still see you tonight?"

She smiled, and he caught the relief writ across her face. "Yes! Of course—right after dinner, in the lab."

"Excellent." They stared at each other for several uncomfortable moments. Severus cleared his throat. "Good afternoon."

"Wait!" Hermione called as he reached her chamber door. He turned to see her hurrying to him. She flung herself at him and kissed him soundly, smiling when she drew back. "Thank you for being there to help me if I needed it."

Unable to trust his voice, he nodded curtly and swept off down the hall with a billow, resisting the urge to smile.

* * *

Dinner had been surprisingly pleasant. The students had behaved for some unknown reason, and he couldn't be arsed to figure out why. Minerva had kept her conversation to herself for once rather than trying to force him to 'socialise', and Hermione had sat quite close to him, chatting quietly and intermittently placing a gentle hand on his thigh.

Brewing was even going well, he mused, pausing in his stirring to take another bite of a tea sandwich—their trials were progressing on time and the results were interesting, if not outright favourable. Hermione was chatting as she took down notes, her presence warm and the earlier discomfort gone.

"Clever," Severus replied. "Once that horrible story is submitted, we shall know just who is involved with this whole thing."

"I thought so," she beamed, peering over his shoulder into the cauldron. "And I know you can come up with something now that we have the owl post address."

His lips twitched, curving into a wicked smirk. "I am certain that a suitable solution can be reached, yes. Pass me the mortar, without touching the paste within. Then fetch a glass stirring rod—second workbench, fourth drawer from the left."

"Got it." After a moment, the slim rod was pressed into his waiting hand.

"That toxic?"

Eight drams of paste went into the cauldron and she waited quietly while he counted fourty-seven exact half-stirs in alternating directions. "Toxic?" He snorted. "As if I'd allow you to handle it without gloves... No, it would merely discolor your skin for nearly two weeks. I thought perhaps you would appreciate the warning."

Out the corner of his eye he saw her recoil and check her hands. "You didn't just outright tell me?"

"Were you a student, I would have told you to wear gloves. _You_ , however actually use your intelligence and when I tell you not to touch something, you listen." He paused. Under his breath, he added: "Even if you _do_ tend to jump to conclusions."

"I heard that."

"Obviously."

"Why does this one need a glass rod?"

"The paste you handed me earlier is not only discoloring, it's also a bit acidic. Until it's cured and the paste fully incorporated to balance it, the overall potion will slowly eat through any material not metal or glass. After that, however, it is safe for _most_ materials. Your hands would have been perfectly safe once you washed them."

Hermione frowned. "What are we brewing, anyway?"

"Paint-thinner."

"Turpentine?"

"The magical equivalent thereof."

She was silent for a long moment. "Do I really want to know why?"

"There has been some rather rude graffiti taking place in Slytherin house," Severus said finally, setting down the rod. "As my warnings have gone unheeded, I've jinxed the walls with a tell-tale spell. It will leave a residue only I shall be able to see, and anyone I catch will be forced to clean it off—using this, and without gloves."

"But it discolors, I thought," Hermione replied.

"And therein lies how one deals with insubordination within my House." Severus smirked widely, taking on a cruel edge. "I guarantee that it shall only take one incident for it to be the very last. No Slytherin enjoys being caught—most reprimanding is done behind closed doors. The one at fault will suffer the most, but they will all learn the lesson."

"Wicked man," she murmured. "Behind closed doors, hmm?"

"Yes." His voice was soft, rumbling in his chest. "Why do you think I never call out students in my House?"

"I hadn't given it any thought."

Severus hmm'd thoughtfully, flicking his hand negligently to dispel the flame. "In any case, we are finished for this evening." Her face fell as he washed his hands. Silly witch, did she think that he would chase her away? "What would you like to do tonight?"

Hermione brightened instantly. "Would you like me to make some tea?"

"If you are so inclined, I have biscuits in the kitchen cupboard." Their footsteps echoed off the narrow stone hall to his quarters. Her warm hand wormed its way into his, and he slowed his pace so as not to jostle the bushy-haired witch who tilted her head towards his shoulder.

"I am so inclined."


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** You are all such amazing and lovely people, my readers! Thank you as always for reading and reviewing and feeding the muses!

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

"Hermione, for the hundredth bloody time—wake _up_!"

"Hmm?" Hermione opened her eyes, then started as a large, hooked nose and dark, drawn-together brows loomed in front of her. On instinct, she buried deeper into his couch cushions, blinking and pulling the blanket closer as his dark hair dripped water over her.

"Breakfast is in thirty minutes. We have overslept." Severus stepped back just as she sprang into action, galvanized. His quick thinking spared his nose from another collision.

"Thirty minutes! And I'm still wearing the same robes from yesterday!" Desperately, she tried to pat her rat's nest of hair into some semblance of tidiness.

"Hermione—"

"I don't have my brush, can I borrow a comb? Do you _have_ a comb? Oh, this is awful -"

"Hermione!"

"Everyone will notice, and I don't have time to change, let alone get to my room and shower—"

"HERMIONE!" Severus bellowed. His wet hair clung to his cheeks, and he looked thinner than usual since he had yet to don his frock coat and robes.

Shocked that he would yell at her, she froze, shoes dangling by their heels from her slack fingers.

"Now that I have your complete attention..." Severus's voice was a sinister snarl, clearly impatient. "The shower is running: go bathe. A house-elf has already been sent to your quarters to retrieve robes, undergarments, and your lavender blouse. You will find suitable toiletries on the sink," he added prosaically. "I do suggest you hurry."

"Thank you! Love you!" Hermione kissed his cheek as she vaulted past him, dropping her shoes on the carpet, and the bathroom door closed behind her with a slam. She began stripping off her robes, still smelling slightly of that paint-thinner they'd brewed last night before tea and biscuits and conversations and some _very_ nice kisses, and jumped into his shower, smiling. She was in his _shower_! Sure, her time was limited, but he'd allowed her into his private areas willingly.

And it was awfully sweet of the man to select toiletries for her. They even smelled wonderful. Scrubbing her scalp, Hermione contented herself with the fantasy of Severus crafting them just for her. Grateful that she'd shaved yesterday, Hermione hastened through her ablutions even as she heard the soft pop of an elf.

True enough, when she exited the shower she saw her clothes folded neatly on the sink and waiting for her. She toweled off as quickly as possible, choosing to spell her curls back into a messy bun rather than risk a drying charm. No sense in showing up to breakfast looking like an electrocuted poodle, she figured. She was a teacher and that meant she had to look at least a little professional, even if she was wearing the same trousers as yesterday under her robes. Hopefully no one would notice.

A knock sounded sharply on the door. "Ten minutes to depart, unless you wish to be late and alone." Severus's voice rumbled through the wood.

"I'll be out in a minute," Hermione promised. "Just need to brush my teeth."

She could almost feel the disapproval radiating from him through the door. So he didn't brush his teeth in the morning, big bloody deal. He could damn well put up with her proper hygiene habits. Hermione didn't care what he said, potions and spells didn't work nearly as well as basic Muggle toothbrush and toothpaste.

"Hermione..."

Resolutely, she turned the tap on to wet her brush and began counting the seconds for proper oral care.

"Eight minutes."

"I know," she shouted back around a mouthful of toothpaste. Honestly, that man!

At his growl of "six minutes" she yanked the door open and found him glowering at her, arms crossed over his thin chest and resplendent in his full teaching regalia.

"Have some damn patience, Severus."

"By rights, I should have left you sleeping on the soda," he shot back, flicking a hand to send her pumps flying over to her, and jabbing his wand towards his desk with a Vanishing spell.

"Sofa," she corrected automatically.

Curiously, he flushed and Hermione bent to put on the pumps, careful to adjust the toes of her stockings so they wouldn't rub. "They're _shoes_ , Hermione. You put your feet in them," Severus grumbled before muttering, "I should have gone to breakfast without you."

Exasperated, she blew her hair out of her face as she straightened. She wondered if he was actually capable of leaving without her, now that they had more or less gotten the whole 'I like you, you like me' thing settled. "Well, you waited, so now you're stuck with me. Come on, then."

Together they left his quarters—well, she near-trotted while he billowed with his graceful stalk. How did he do that, anyway? A charm? Natural ability? Regardless, he was fantastic to watch as he swept through the halls. She scowled as she realised that several of the students thought so as well, judging by the lovestruck looks on some of the faces as they approached the Great Hall.

"The two of you are cutting it rather close," Minerva observed, watching them sharply. Her eyes darted to Hermione's damp hair.

"Indeed," was Severus's only response as he reached for the tea.

"Sorry," Hermione offered, accepting the tureen of scrambled eggs from Hagrid with a smile. "We got caught up working on some things and completely lost track of time."

It was true, mostly. They'd sat chatting (and snogging) in his quarters until she'd fallen asleep leaning against him. He'd woken her briefly, just long enough for her to tell him to shut up and hand her a blanket.

Minerva watched the two of them a moment, then seemed to dismiss it as an oddity.

Beside her, she saw Severus relax ever-so-slightly, his knife scraping jam liberally on his toast. His plate contained his usual breakfast—a single serving of eggs, sausage, about a cup of fruit, and toast (white) with jam. She'd never understand his stringent meal-time portions when she knew he'd be snacking as soon as he reached his office.

Severus drained four mugs of tea in quick succession before lazily waving his hand to raise a few privacy wards. Even after the caffeine from his morning soda and tea, he was too tired to deal with eavesdropping little miscreants. "Minerva."

"Hmm?" The witch in question looked over to him, carafe of pumpkin juice in hand.

"Professor Granger and I would like to speak to you after breakfast, if possible. Discreetly." Next to him, Hermione's eyebrows rose in surprise, but he kept his attention on his meal lest she jump to conclusions about the topic of conversation he had in mind and reveal the changed nature of their—relationship? What the hell were they?—to Minerva. He had no intention of informing anyone, for that matter. His private life was precisely that, and he very much wanted it to remain so.

* * *

Minerva settled behind the massive desk with a swish of green tartan robes. "Make this quick, Severus. I know at least one of you has a class to teach this morning."

Hermione started guiltily. She'd completely forgotten that she had third year Hufflepuffs to show the finer points of her craft to. _Damn._ Severus, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the reminder that he should be pre-writing the lessons on the chalkboard and confirming that he had the ingredients ready to go. Then again, knowing the dour man, he was just as likely to drop an impromptu test on his students.

"We," Severus began, steepling his long fingers together and looking as disapproving as possible, "have come across a rather unsavoury sort of room at Madame Puddifoot's." Hermione would ever be impressed by the amount of disdain he could lace two words with. "More to the point, the literature contained therein is sordid and features our likenesses without our permission. I rather doubt that Weasley or Potter have given theirs, either."

Was he being vague because the topic bothered him, she wondered, or because of the nosy portraits lining the office walls?

"Oh dear." Minerva looked perplexed. "And you are worried about the repercussions on the school's reputation?"

Severus laughed drily, and Hermione turned to him in surprise—it wasn't often that he laughed, and certainly not about this subject. "I think," Hermione said slowly, "that we're both more concerned because we've discovered that the proceeds for the items in question are going _to_ Hogwarts. As in, donated funds."

The headmistress turned, tutting, and rummaged through a drawer in her desk. "Ah, here." Hermione took the roll of parchment with a questioning look. "Hogwarts has several sources of income and several benefactors, if you will. I doubt that any funding provided by, as you said, a more risque source, would not do so anonymously."

Severus plucked the scroll from Hermione's hand as she went to unroll it and he gave her a bored look when she squawked into protest. "Thank you, Minerva. I will return it to you in short order. After classes, however."

Hermione glared at the audacity of the man. "Now, see here, Severus, I want to look at that, too."

"And you will, during your free period," he told her silkily. Damn the man and his bloody attitude... "In the meantime, you will merely have to apply what little patience you possess."

Chuckling, Minerva simply changed the topic, shooing them out of her office. "Let me know what you find out, won't you?"

"I will," Hermione said. Severus didn't echo her affirmation, the git. He was up to something, she knew it, and she followed him down the spiral staircase, careful not to trod on his robe. "Severus! Severus, wait!"

He came to a flowing stop mid-stride, and she bumped into him. Severus tried, really tried, she thought, to give her his best icy glare. But knowing the man as long as she had had more or less taken the edge off of it and she huffed at him, annoyed.

"What in Merlin's name was that about?" she hissed under her breath.

"I should have thought that was obvious."

"Don't take that cool tone with me, Severus Snape. First, you don't bring this up until this morning, and now this? I don't have time for you silver-tonguing your way—"

"Hermione," he interrupted, looking exhausted as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. "We got very little sleep last night, I know, but do try to engage that vaunted mind of yours. You know how displeased I am with the tripe that lingers beyond that revolting beaded curtain, and here is a stepping stone to the next answer. Perhaps _you_ are willing to wait longer, but I am not."

She sighed. "I understand that, but why are you being so curt and dismissing me?"

Oh, there went the eyebrow, arching up the expanse of his pale forehead and disappearing under the fall of already-lank hair. He pushed the errant strands back impatiently. "There was another situation outside my doors this morning before I retrieved you from the arms of Morpheus, a situation which I do not wish to go into. You have a class to teach. I was simply expediting the process, given how Minerva lingered over breakfast and wasted my—apologies, our—time. I do not like being the subject of public speculation, especially in regards to this subject matter."

Hermione looked at him searchingly, but his black eyes were unreadable. She shuddered to think who and how they had been waiting outside his chambers this morning to leave him so unsettled.

"Hermione. Please." The word on his lips was enough for her to realise that he was simply close to his tether when it came to the matter and she nodded, letting it go. Her mouth thinned with distaste over his treatment of her, but his grimace was enough to tell her he'd actually realised it himself already. "Thank you."

It was a mere whisper. Severus checked the hall before kissing her firmly.

All too soon he was gone, striding off down the hall faster than she could follow. Shaking her head, Hermione hurried off to her own classroom.

* * *

"Please tell me you've made progress," Hermione snarled, barging into his office. Severus jumped as the door banged open and scowled as she slammed it and dropped into a chair. "Because I bloody well haven't had a moment to look at the damn thing, let alone think."

"Enter, do have a seat. How have your morning classes been." His voice was heavy with sarcasm. She looked terrible. Entirely flustered, of course, no less than three quills being devoured by her hair, and ink high on her cheek.

"Horrid," she said shortly. "I've lost four quills, and I've never had such a problem with Hufflepuff students! Apparently they all knew about that back room and it became a topic and I..." She paused, and when she continued her voice was very small. "I lost control of my class. It's never happened to me before."

Severus studied her before replying. "At least some of your quills are in your hair, and I am certain that by your next class you will have regrouped and they will rue this day, Professor."

Hermione glowered at him. "You'll be less amused when I assign them all to you for detention."

He raised an eyebrow. "Careful now," he said blandly. "The students aren't that imbecilic and may, in fact, realise something is going on between us if you resort to threatening them with their fearsome Potions Master."

"True," she replied. "May be worth it, though. And I don't think Filch can maintain discipline for an entire classroom's worth of students at his age."

"Not without thumb screws," Severus said. Hermione laughed and he allowed himself the barest curl of a smile.

Funny what simply a few days in their newly-minted...whatever...could do. He frowned slightly: yes, funny. Funny that she had thrown herself at him in frustration and they had begun their tryst. Funny how relaxed he was about the whole thing. Funny that he was, in his estimation, making great strides about _snogging_.

Severus made a note on his parchment to test himself for any Weasley products. And her. Just in case it was too good to be true.

* * *

Hermione flipped through the list of Hogwarts' benefactors, growing more and more irate. Alright, so Severus was right, and there wasn't anything to go on. The usual families and companies—none even in publishing—and several untraceable anonymous sources. She wanted to scream. If there was something Hermione hated, it was research without answers. Books and papers should have _answers_. The funny thing was, this all hadn't bothered her overmuch until Severus had gotten started on the trail of making it stop.

At this rate, they'd find out who and how and put an end to it near the end of the school year, just like everything with Harry.

Hermione frowned, wondering if she should try again to enlist Harry in his role as an Auror. Probably not, if only because she knew how touchy Severus was about this whole thing and he wasn't still terribly keen on having Potters know his personal business. He managed civility—even if it did come with a thin veneer of impatient disdain—but was clearly relieved once he no longer had to maintain it.

Some things never changed.

Still, they had reached a dead end, at least until her erstwhile student worked up the nerve to submit their fiction. Hermione pursed her lips, watching Severus muttering under his breath over an essay he was grading, hunched over at his desk.

"This is stupid," Hermione said. Severus blinked and looked up at her.

"Indeed. I am convinced that the students are losing intelligence they can poor afford to over breaks."

"Not that," Hermione said, waving the parchments at him. "This. There's nothing to go on!"

"As I told you there would not," Severus replied, hunching over his grading again.

Hermione huffed. "I hope Scotts turns in his atrocious little tale soon. That's going to be our only method of tracking the publisher if your charms inquiries come to nothing."

"Hmm," came the noncommittal reply from the man at the desk.

"Unless I scared the boy out of submitting his story," Hermione mused, her brow creasing. "It's possible."

Severus didn't answer, but his quill scratched viciously into the assignment in front of him. She almost felt sorry for the student who submitted it. Almost. She had been teaching long enough to understand his frustration.

An idea occurred to her. "Maybe we should submit our own story."

The quill snapped.

"What?" His voice was tightly controlled; a low, dangerous caress she hadn't heard in quite some time. In a swirl of black he was looming over her. She swallowed, simultaneously turned on and alarmed. "Are you suggesting that we _professors_ create lurid pornography and put it into hands unknown?"

"Well, yes."

He glared down his hooked nose at her. It was terribly intimidating as he arched one brow. "We are installed at an institute of learning. We teach _children_ , Merlin's sake! What you are suggesting would likely result in the both of us being fired!"

Hermione scowled and rose from the couch. She jabbed her finger in his chest as she spoke. "I wasn't suggesting we reveal who wrote it, for one. For two, we just need it to get to the publisher, so we could write the start of a story and have it end with a treatise on charms for all I care! I don't want to write that tripe, either, or have it traced back to me, but like you I want what already exists to stop!"

Severus sneered down at her a moment longer before bending to kiss her briefly. She squawked and he pulled back to give her a lascivious grin. "I was merely ensuring you were aware of the possible ramifications."

"And you like to rile me," Hermione growled.

"There is that."

She reached for his shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss.

* * *

"This drivel is terrible."

"I know, but it's better than sending in blank pages," Hermione replied. She was using a charmed quill to disguise her handwriting. After quite a bit of quibbling, she had settled on writing a terrible start of a story about herself. The remaining pages would be various quotes of textbooks. Neither of them were particularly pleased about the entire thing, but it had to end.

The more time passed, the more students and public learned that they had found out what lingered behind the beaded curtain of Mrs. Puddifoot's, and the post was increasingly uncomfortable for Hermione. Severus had received word from the Hogsmeade post office that his post was becoming too much for their facilities. The Prophet had had a field day, conjecturing about how they would react, on 'which lucky witch or wizard would win their heart'. Potter and Weasley had been in constant contact with Hermione. They weren't too pleased, either. Initially amused, yes, but as _they_ began to receive post, the shine wore off.

"I do not know which is more disturbing," Severus remarked as he read over her shoulder, "Hermione Granger writing a terrible excuse for smut about herself, or that same Hermione Granger deliberately misspelling and using the wrong word. I do hope the resulting brain damage isn't permanent."

Hermione grimaced, penning another sentence. "This is painful enough to write without your mockery, Severus."

There was a pause as she dipped her nib into the ink, and he frowned at the phrase she'd written. "What the hell, is 'wonton' even a proper word?"

"It's a type of Chinese food." At his continued blank expression, she sighed. "I'll take you out for Chinese someday this summer, love, I promise."

Severus tilted his head with an almost boyish delight. "Are you asking me out on a date?"

"I suppose so." She couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto her face.

"Then I accept." He chuckled, straightening. "Only a page or so more to write, then copy the remaining texts in."

"You'll show me the privacy charms, right?" Hermione asked, her tone anxious.

"Among others," Severus said. He ran his hands along the spines of her books. The feel of the leather bindings, worn smooth, was comforting. He selected one at random and sat down in her reading chair. "I intend to ensure that the ink, writing, parchment, et cetera, cannot be traced to us. Not even a trace of your perfume will remain."

"I'm not wearing perfume at the moment," she muttered. "That's my shampoo you're smelling."

Severus glared at her shoulder blades and opened the book in his lap as she scratched out another line she clearly didn't approve of.

"I can't do this. It's too awful. I have to actually misspell things..." The quill trembled in her hand. "I can't bring myself to write the word 'cum'. It's so...so juvenile. So stupid! It's not sexy at all!"

"So spell 'semen' as 'seamen'," Severus suggested. "You're nearly done."

Hermione grumbled, but kept writing. ...And he wisely pretended not to hear the impolite implications about his parents' marital status prior to his birth.

* * *

 _See you next week, you wonderful people! I'm off to sew more nerdy pillowcases for my Etsy shop, Stitchumsempra!_


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** HOLY CRAP WHAT DAY IS IT. I am so sorry for forgetting to post! I got so busy cleaning the house for a showing and then vacating the premises for afore-mentioned showing that I forgot to post this chapter. I am so sorry T_T. Please don't hate me!

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

Her Floo chimed and Hermione's head jerked. Severus mumbled something impolite against her collarbone and she removed her hand from inside the back of his trousers. She gave his firm arse a pat. "Let me up, love."

With a curse on his lips he levered himself off her enough for Hermione to roll off of the sofa to the floor with an unladylike 'oomph'. She clutched her half-open shirt together as she wobbled to her feet, very unhappy with whoever was calling her on a late Saturday morning. She and Severus had no plans—he had even restrained himself from giving a single detention—other than showing up for meals and enjoying each other's company.

And it had been going so well, too, Hermione thought. He was so close to her breasts this time! Honestly, as slowly as the man went you'd think he was a virgin. Either that, or intent on addling her brains with foreplay and teasing... Which wasn't hard to do. Pleasure more or less shut her brain off.

"Answer," Hermione growled at the fireplace. Keenly aware of her disheveled clothing and the tousled fluff that her hair probably was, she opted for a voice-only connection. Harry's face appeared briefly in the flames and she scowled, glad he couldn't see her.

 _Definitely_ a mood-killer.

"Hey 'Mione. Got a minute?"

"One or two," she replied. A glance over at the settee revealed Severus pulling his cravat off the back cushions and beginning to wrap it around his neck, over the love bites she had just put on his pale skin. "Actually, just one _very_ short minute, Harry."

After all, she didn't want Severus to escape. She had every intention of being back under his lean body where she had been warm and dizzy with arousal as soon as possible. The man on her sofa smirked and tossed the cravat back over the cushions. She smiled.

"I won't be long, then. I wanted to know how close you and Snape are to finding the source of that, well—" Harry paused awkwardly. "That smut. You know."

"I do know, you prude."

"I'm not a prude," he mumbled. "I—"

"Point, Harry?" Hermione interrupted before he could stumble through a regaling of his sexual exploits. She loved Harry dearly, but he was awful at talking about intimacy and she didn't want to ruin the mood more than it had been.

"Sorry. Ginny was assaulted in London today, because 'she has me and I deserve better'. She's alright," Harry added hastily at Hermione's concerned squawk. "Actually, the instigators are at St. Mungo's under guard. They need to be patched up before they can be properly processed for arrest."

"Sounds like it's really becoming a problem," Hermione mused.

"You can say that again. This sort of thing has been escalated since the two of you found that back room, and now the MLE is taking an active interest."

"They weren't before?" Hermione almost-screeched. "I've _reported_ it in the past, Harry! To you _and_ Colin! Your partner said it would be looked into!"

A glance back at the sofa showed Severus looking rather thunderous.

"I know," Harry said, his tone apologetic. "But it wasn't important enough, apparently, until it actually affected someone negatively."

"As if Hermione and I were not negatively affected?" Severus snapped, rising from the sofa and coming to stand next to her. "We are teachers at _Hogwarts_ , tasked with teaching _children_. Parents could easily have decided that that filth was grounds enough for us to lose our jobs!"

Harry's disembodied head seemed shocked to hear his former professor's voice in her quarters, even as he stared blindly into the room, unable to actually see the man in question. "Er—hello, sir. I wasn't aware you were here."

"Obviously," Severus sneered.

"Er—well, in any case, they're looking into it now," Harry said lamely. "Are you close?"

 _He was close to my breasts_ , Hermione thought uncharitably. It wasn't Harry's fault that he had terrible timing.

"We hope to be," Severus said. "While my contacts have been of no help, we have laid a trap of our own."

"I hope it works." Harry looked hopeful. "I'm going to write to Draco Malfoy. He recently picked up some sort of publishing company and he may have insight on independent manufacturing and the like. I won't keep you from whatever lesson-planning or grading you're doing. Let me know what you know when you do, Hermione. 'Bye, Snape."

Harry's head disappeared, and the green left the flames. Hermione turned to Severus, fully planning to push him back to the sofa and kiss him senseless.

"Lesson-planning?" Severus's eyes glittered with a hint of amusement.

"Yes," Hermione said. She walked him backwards towards the couch. It hit his knees and he sat heavily. "I was planning a lesson, anyway."

Severus groaned and pulled her onto his lap. "Please don't. I have heard that terrible joke multiple times when I find snogging students."

Hermione giggled and kissed his nose as she straddled him. "You're right. That really would be too trite. And I promise not to say anything like the novels."

He scowled. "You do and you will find yourself summarily on the floor."

"Then I won't dare." Hermione tugged the cravat loose and discarded it. "But I do have a bit of a complaint."

Severus's shoulders tensed under her fingers. Something flickered across his features before they settled into cruel lines. "Oh?"

She swatted him. "Don't make that face. I was going to complain that we were so rudely interrupted before you could get your hands where I wanted them. Lighten up."

His jaw worked a few times, but his posture remained stiff. "Hermione," Severus started, then hesitated. "I am not terribly experienced. All the same, I do know precisely what I desire."

Hermione sat back a little, running her hands down his arms. Was he actually opening up to her? Determined not to open her mouth and ruin the moment, she let him work (stumble) his way through what he wanted to say. Severus wasn't terribly good when it came to interpersonal relationships—not that she was much better—so she wasn't going to push him. Yet. If he kept sitting there staring at her, though, she probably would.

"I have had years," he continued softly, his voice turning to velvet, "years I have spent alone. In the first years, I researched meticulously. I built fantasies. After that brief period, I resigned myself to being alone."

The unspoken word 'unwanted' hovered between them, and Severus tilted his head back, his hair spilling over his shoulders. She had to bite her lip to restrain herself from kissing the exposed line of his neck.

"And then, Hermione, came you. And I tried so very hard not to be touched by you. Not to think of you." His nostrils flared, and she could have sworn that his black eyes turned impossibly darker. Her teeth sank deeper into her lip and she tried not to shift at the heat that curled through her. "It is incredibly difficult to tell you, but while I tried not to fantasise, I did. Nighttime imagery that I would be ashamed to admit to if we were not in our current position."

He licked his lips almost compulsively. Her eyes followed the motion and she mimicked it, well aware that his cock was stirring beneath her.

"I am unclear as to the level of your experience," he purred. "So I am allowing you to lead."

"So you're...holding back," Hermione whispered. "Restraining yourself."

"Yes." That one word held so much promise. She shivered and drew her wand from her sleeve.

Hermione flicked it at the door, the walls, and dropped the vine length to the carpet.

"Stop."

With a growl, Severus pulled her down and kissed her. There was so much heat, so much passion—! Hermione whimpered and kissed him back, tilting her head so the hook of his noses rested on her cheek. Her fingers plunged into his fine hair, uncaring of the oily texture. His lips parted beneath hers and soon they were trading open-mouthed kisses, their tongues darting into the other's mouth. It was wet, and he desperately needed practice, but Hermione was more than willing to be the kiss-ee.

And she wouldn't trade the emotion behind his kisses for the world.

Severus was going delirious. He couldn't believe that this was happening, that he had managed to force the words out past the lump in his throat. When she had told him to stop, he had let go. Dropped the thin barrier of his Occlumency between his body and his desires... And now...

She wriggled on his lap and he clutched at her, trying to keep her there. The feel of her fingers on his scalp was electrifying, and he found his hips bucking under her. He kissed her harder, sucking on her tongue. That whimper—!

Encouraged, Severus broke the kiss and nipped at her neck. Hermione made another sound, shifting, and he sucked and kissed and nibbled. This was better than fantasies and fevered dreams. This was better than touching himself in his bed to thoughts of her. They were both panting, clutching, grinding...

Her hands left his hair and he let her tug his hands to her breasts. "Please," Hermione whispered. "Please, Severus..."

With a groan, he cupped and lifted her small breasts. Hermione began tugging at the buttons on his jacket and shirt and he let her, wishing he could see the flesh he held. Her breasts were supple under his fingers and he wanted her naked. Him naked. He wanted them entwined and panting and skin on skin—

"Me too," Hermione gasped, and Severus realised he had been speaking aloud. "I've wanted you so badly for so long, I am so tired of being patient..."

He swallowed heavily as a heavy chime sounded through her quarters. Noon. "Just a while longer, Hermione—we're expected—" He broke off sharply as she opened his shirt and kissed his chest. "—Merlin!—at lunch—ah, Minerva will be—"

Severus swore as she found his nipple, suckling upon it. He hadn't known they would be so sensitive and blood surged through his veins.

Hermione pulled back, combing her fingers through the crisp black hair on his chest. He revelled in the sensation of another's touch on his skin. "We don't _have_ to go to lunch. We can say we got caught up talking, testing those potions, or researching those novels..."

He scowled. That last doused his ardour far more efficiently than any cold shower or potion. "Well, since you put it that way..."

"Oh, damn, I killed the mood, didn't I?" Hermione sat back on her heels, unwilling to relinquish the moment just yet.

"Yes," Severus replied sourly. "You did."

"Sorry."

"There is always later. Much later." She huffed and wriggled a little bit on his lap.

"Damn it." Hermione crossed her arms and glared down at him. "And damn _right_ there is later." She swooped down and suckled his chest. His fingers tangled in her hair and he gasped, arching into her mouth. Finally she pulled back and admired the little mark. "Now I know where we left off."

"You do, perhaps." Severus tugged on her hair and she let him pull her, but then his other hand yanked at the neckline of her shirt and he sank his uneven teeth into the swell of her breast.

"Oh, Merlin yes," she panted. "We are _definitely_ picking up where we left off later."

Severus chuckled as he surveyed his handiwork. "As you say. Now get off my lap before I push you onto your carpet. If we are due at lunch we had best be on our way and someone undid my shirt."

Giving his nose a final peck, Hermione extracted herself from him and straightened her robes. She didn't bother offering him a hand up, but she did set about looking for the cravat she had tossed aside.

* * *

"Well, well, what do we have here," Severus sneered, pulling aside the heavy tapestry and shining the light from his wand in their faces. "Fifteen points from Hufflepuff, Harris, for being out after curfew. Another ten points for snogging in the halls. And as for you Stewards, return to the Slytherin dormitories before I owl your mother."

They gaped at him. "Now," Severus hissed. "Or it will be detention for a week."

They scampered and he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had not seen Hermione since lunch, unless you counted her brief and frazzled appearance at dinner. At the far end of the table (the furthest he could get from Sybill), he had had only a moment of eye contact and her smile. After their earlier passion, it felt like rejection, though he knew better.

After lunch, students had approached Hermione about some project or other and she—swot that she was—had been keen to assist them. He expected no less from her. It was one of her best traits.

Still... Severus stalked silently towards the Astronomy tower, dousing his wand. If he wasn't able to be snogging the witch he loved, neither would any other student in this school. He was being lenient, taking points and not assigning detentions—yet. He had cleared no less than fourteen couples from various hidey-holes throughout the school, but there was still the tower.

He brightened a bit. There were seven alcoves and four balconies on the Astronomy tower suitable for late-night trysts. Maybe it would be a good night and they would all be filled. He hadn't had a full tower since the year before Potter came to Hogwarts. He could even reward himself with a nice cold soda for stopping the hormonal little miscreants.

If there had been students watching the Potions Master, they would have been terrified by the bounce in his step.

* * *

Severus was feeling rather cheerful as he made his way back to his quarters. Not only had every nook and balcony been filled with lust-driven students, but most of them had been from Gryffindor. He couldn't wait for Minerva to see how few rubies remained in the hourglass in the morning. And this weekend's Slytherin versus Ravenclaw match was sure to end in victory. His House's Chasers were phenomenal, and the Ravenclaw Seeker wasn't the sharpest, either.

Better yet, he had found no Slytherins at the tower. A personal best, and he had more than earned the right to open his stash of soda a second time today.

The halls were quiet—clearly, word of his sweep of the castle had spread—as he made his way to his dungeon chambers. Not even Peeves or one of the castle ghosts drifted into the corridors. The walk was perfect for him to think. He had heard from some of his Knockturn contacts about the charms used on the smut books, but independently of the others each claimed that it would require a Master in charms to work such intricate magic. Most tomes were actually printed, not Duplicated, and not in such quantity when they were.

And yet Filius hadn't had a clue, which was never a good sign. Severus sighed. He would have to cave and owl Lucius. The blond, while left nearly destitute since being charged various 'war reparations', was still quite the font of knowledge and gossip. Severus just hated owing the man favours.

Redirecting his path and grumbling mentally about it, he swept along the corridors to his office. A flick of his wand lit the candles and he scratched out the message to Lucius. Severus was fairly certain that somewhere in his chambers he still had an untouched and rather pricey bottle of cognac—Lucius's favourite—that he could gift the poncy blond for his aid.

"Tipple," Severus said, and the elf in question popped next to him, tugging his ears. "Will you ensure that this is posted in the morning?"

"Tipple will, Headmaster!"

"Don't call me—" he started as Tipple disappeared. "Bugger."

When would the elves get it through their bloody heads that he was not and would never again be the bloody headmaster? Severus placed his quill in its designated rest and noticed a pile of notes on his desk's corner. Pink ones. His nostrils flared. They were scented with...not perfume but Weasley products. Bloody hell. Students had snuck fucking potion-tainted _love letters_ into his office. He Levitated them long enough to read the sender's names and then took care of the offending literature with an Incendio, being very careful not to touch the lust-inducing residue they left behind.

Annoyed, he walked to his chambers. The torches flickering on the walls cast his shadow on the stones. When he was younger and prone to flitting around the castle at night in search of secrets and knowledge, he had once pretended the shadows were his friends. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he still had, once he returned to teach.

The shadows, the dark, were solace. Were comforting. Were his constant companions. He was at home in them, but he still loved the light. It had always been the way for him. He left his dark and dreary home in favour of the sunlit play park. He left the beautiful water-lit darkness of the Slytherin dormitories for the sun-drenched library.

Shite, he was being maudlin again. He blamed the love letters and the lack of Hermione.

Severus was irritated that not seeing her this evening left him so out of sorts. He tried very hard not to let things effect him in this manner. Tried being the operative word. Many things that tangled his emotions left him surly.

Thank Merlin that the students were used to his tempers, and that Hermione knew when he was blustering. And at least he had a soda to look forward to. And detention to assign to the students foolish enough to bribe the elves to leave notes on his desk. Severus brightened. That should help to discourage them. He'd send the detentions out by owl in the morning. He could assign them detention with Filch that same night. Or better, with Poppy, cleaning bedpans.

A thought struck him. Maybe he could change tomorrow's first lesson to a particularly foul laxative potion. Turn his back on the students long enough for at least two or three of them to pocket a dose. Who was in the morning Gryffindor-Hufflepuff class? The Hufflepuffs were the most likely to succumb to the urge, but from Gryffindor...Summers was his most likely candidate. She was fairly impish and would be struck by the impulse. The Poste boy, Hufflepuff from Hell, now... _he_ would definitely make use of the potion. After all, the boy was charming and persuasive and his common room was right by the kitchens. There would be a need for bedpan cleaners all right.

Possibly by lunch.

That would be _fantastic._

It certainly made him feel better about the bloody smut books. Damned Puddifoot's with its damned backroom and damned curtains...

Severus brought down his wards with a practiced swish.

* * *

" _You_ are up to something," Minerva said that morning, eyeing him from the Head's chair. She had been pestering him all meal, Hermione had noticed, mostly about the sudden drop in points. Severus, however, continued to ignore her and merely added a dash of pepper to his eggs. "You are nearly _smiling_ , for Merlin's sake!"

Hermione, to his right, laughed softly. "I was thinking the same thing. But he's not going to tell us." She took a sip of her juice. "Severus, do you have a spare moment this morning before classes?"

She waited while he tilted his head as he chewed, considering. It was a familiar gesture to her, seeing him mentally run over whatever list was in his mind. Finally, he gave her a curt nod, swallowing. "I should have fifteen or so minutes before my first class."

"That should be enough." Hermione was burning to know what he was up to, but if there was something she had learned about Severus Snape over the years, it was that he rather had a flair for the dramatic. Sneaking up on students, lurking in shadows, banging open his classroom door, waiting until someone said a good straight line like 'no one knows we're here' or 'Where's Snape?...Maybe he's ill/left/been sacked'...

...He just loved the equivalent of being able to jump out and yell "boo!", even if that wasn't how it manifested itself.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I fully enjoy the fact that fanfiction means I get to choose who lived and died in the war. *frolics*

* * *

 **Chapter 10**

Severus looked around his classroom, at the ingredients lined up for the students to use, at the cauldrons stacked neatly against the wall. The new potion assignment was on the board. He had planned his "interruption" to give his students a chance to steal their doses. He had spoken with the elves and they were aware students would be attempting to dose the food—it would be allowed, but the staff table's meals as well as a few others would remain untouched. He had owled the little shits who had dared to leave him love letters, and their detention was set for that night.

It was the perfect plan.

The door opened just as he picked up his pocket watch to check the time. He turned, his face cold, but he relaxed as he saw Hermione closing the door behind her.

"So, what are you planning?" She had an impish smile as she crossed the room, a roll of parchment in her hands.

He snorted.

"Oh, is that how it is? Plausible deniability?"

"Indeed." He bent and brushed his lips over hers. "What did you wish to speak with me about?"

"These," she replied, handing him the scroll. A faint scowl hovered about her lips and he kissed her again. He much preferred the smile. "I mailed off the fake story last night, and the tracking charms' result don't make any sense. I've gone over them and run various calculations, but I must have done something wrong with the spells. Can you look them over?"

"Of course." Severus locked the parchment in his desk drawer.

"So. The hourglasses. How many students _did_ you catch last night?"

"Every single hiding place in the Astronomy tower, and more," he replied smugly.

"Wow. That's impressive. Sounds like a good night."

"It was until I found love letters on my desk." Severus's brows drew together. Anger stirred in his chest again.

"Plural? How did they get in here?"

"Probably tricked or threatened some elves. They will be dealt with."

"The students or elves?"

"The students, of course."

Hermione glanced at the board, and he saw the pieces click into place. "Oh you're _not_."

"I will reveal nothing." She laughed and rose up on tiptoe to kiss him.

"You're as bad as the students sometimes."

He couldn't fight the smile playing about his lips. "Perhaps."

"I take it back. You're worse, simply because you know how to get away with it."

With a chuckle, he bent to her.

"You know you have three students out there clutching copies of those ratty books and hoping you'll exit the classroom, don't you?" she murmured between kisses.

Severus scowled. "Don't remind me."

"We'll get to the bottom of it soon," Hermione promised.

"And in the interim I have to deal with children—" he sneered "—who have the emotional maturity of nose-biting teacups and the impulse control of a caffeinated baboon."

She snorted. "Right. And on that note, I will let you get to your dastardly deed. I have a class to teach, too."

Hermione left, and as she opened the door he clearly saw the afore-mentioned students (whose ranks had increased) and heard their ridiculously sappy sigh as they caught sight of him.

Damn it all—he flicked his hand and the door slammed with a resounding bang.

* * *

Severus took another bite of his crisps and frowned down at the careful notes and calculations Hermione had brought him. It really made no sense. Absently, he brushed sandwich crumbs from his frock coat. She had finished the manuscript, cast the charms he had taught her to ensure that she could not be traced back to the tale, and sent it off. She was a powerful and extremely clever witch, so he could not understand _why_ the results were so strange.

It appeared as if the pages had come back to Hogwarts moments after having left the Owlery. Which of course was possible if the owl had managed to drop its missive—it had been known to happen once in a while—or if there had been inclement weather that had driven the bloody bird back into the castle. Also possible. He hadn't paid attention to the weather between dinner and patrolling, but it was Scotland, after all.

Still... Annoyed, he leaned back in his office chair and scratched a few more calculations with his quill. Munching absently, he tried a few more variables with Hermione's existing equations, trying to explain it.

A chime sounded and he rose, taking the small corridor from office to laboratory. Both brews were coming along nicely, just the right shade of moss green. He added the powdered greenbaum horn to each and stirred, his strokes with both hands even and precise. Not for the first time he was rather glad that he was ambidextrous and had honed that particular skill.

When he returned to his office, potions attended to, there were two missives on his desk, and two owls perched on his chair.

"Shoo," he scowled, sweeping his arm to interrupt the one going for his stack of sandwiches. "Dratted bird. I don't have any treats for either of you, you will have to content yourselves with crusts." He tossed them each a few bits of bread and watched them go through the narrow vent in the ceiling designated for this very purpose with narrowed eyes.

He hated that blasted vent. He had found owl shite and feathers more than once and it was simply unsanitary, considering how often he ate in his office.

Severus looked overt the delivered letters, curious. The first was stained and written with what appeared to be a grubby pencil—ah, his Knockturn contacts. He perused the contents: still no worthwhile information aside from 'the charms used would have been developed solely by a master'.

Useless.

Filius had known nothing, and he was widely regarded as the premiere charms master in Europe.

And Severus lacked any non-European contacts who were not imprisoned as followers of the Dark Lord. (And thank Merlin for small favours.)

The second missive was on exquisite parchment, the hand familiar and the ink the rich emerald that he knew Lucius favoured. Severus's brows rose. The man lost his portion of his fortune and still wrote letters on the best money could buy. He shook his head. Maybe Draco was giving his father an allowance.

But never again would Severus be surprised at the ponce. Lucius and his expensive habits...

And of course the man was no use, either, protesting his utter lack of knowledge and citing his post-war isolation from the mainstream wizarding world. And of course congratulating Severus on the popularity of his 'series'. Popularity his arse.

Merlin, the man was several scones shy of a tea service.

Complete waste of cognac.

* * *

Hermione frowned as she looked over her students writhing in their seats, clutching their guts. She wondered just how badly the student body would be affected. Most of her was saying 'dismiss them early and let them get to the Hospital Wing', but a teeny tiny voice was saying 'most of them have ogled you and brought those books into class and they should suffer'.

She sighed, squashing that teeny tiny voice that had just a hint of Severus's snide tones in it.

"You may go."

They packed up and fled faster than she had ever seen before and she smiled ruefully. Today had been stressful but relatively uneventful, minus the students squirming uncomfortably in their bids to control their bowels. Oh, not every student was affected; those with carefully-controlled diets, those who had skipped lunch to snog, those who had missed lunch by chatting or researching, and somehow the students who had received notice of detention from Severus via owl that morning had all been spared.

Really, the man was devious. And it wasn't terribly harmful, either. He simply created opportunities and took advantage of the behaviours he could predict.

It was a bit childish of him, but she honestly couldn't begrudge him the bit of fun. He was a good deal less stressed when he did. No one got hurt, and while she didn't completely agree with his behaviour, he wasn't forcing anyone into anything.

Hermione frowned. Ah, the pitfall of being in love: rationalising their less desirable behaviours. She shrugged. Oh well. He'd grown into the childish thing from his bitter asshole thing, so it was entirely likely that he would eventually move on.

Then again, would she love him as much as she did if he wasn't a bitter asshole with a tendency to be childish?

An owl tapped on her classroom window and she let it in. The bird swooped to her desk, depositing the third Auror-office message she had gotten that day, and departed without begging for a treat.

Flipping it open and scanning the signature, she huffed and gathered it and the smut novel she had confiscated from Ackerman at the start of class up with her things. A glance at her wrist watch verified that Severus should have office hours, and she hurried through the halls with a stride to make the afore-mentioned Potions Master envious. Through her walk she managed to work herself into quite the righteous temper.

"Have you seen this?" Hermione asked, disgust colouring her voice as she burst through his office door.

Severus frowned and took the parchment. "It's a letter. Addressed to you."

"So clever of you," she retorted, not waiting for him to read it. "That is the third letter _today_ from Harry's partner, who seems to be taking this whole thing a bit seriously now. He keeps asking what we've found so far, if we have any leads, etcetera. It's beginning to grate."

"Who did they saddle with Potter?" Severus scanned the missive.

"Colin." He glanced up at her, no recognition on his face. She elaborated. "Colin Creevey? Started after me, followed Harry around like a puppy? Prone to flash photography at inopportune moments?"

His eyes brightened. "Ah, him. Mostly average at potions, but doodled on his homework. Fair artist, as I recall."

"Was he? I never saw any of his drawings. His candid photos were very nice, though. I still have a few from my school years in an album." She sat across from him with a huff, setting her stack of papers, books, and quills on his desk. It wobbled precariously. "He's driving me mad. Absolutely mental. I know he's over-eager, especially when it comes to pleasing Harry, but there's a line."

"So tell him off." Severus handed her back the letter. Her pile wobbled and he caught the top books from sliding. "You know, if you placed the smaller books atop the larger, this would not happen."

"The smaller book was confiscated from a student, and is highly inappropriate. I didn't want to be seen toting it to the hall and to you." Hermione rested her hand on the corner of his desk, idly stroking the grain of the wood.

"Another one?" His lips thinned and he plucked from in between the textbooks. Severus scowled. "And featuring Potter, no less. 'Harry Potter and the Philanthropic Photoshoot'. Merlin save us all, they're attempting four-syllable words now."

"I haven't looked at it much yet," Hermione admitted, still toying with the edge of his desk. "I caught the glimmer of the glamour as it changed the cover and took it. The publisher's submission address is very clear though, so it may be one of the first and original tales. There's another mark on the back, too, that looks a tad familiar even if I can't place it. Do you think having it will help your research?"

"Doubtful. None of my avenues have netted me any information, which is unusual in and of itself." The lines of displeasure on his face grew more pronounced. "I will take a look at it. I may go this weekend under Polyjuice or glamour to ask questions. Perhaps it is me they are opposed to giving information to."

Her eyebrows rose. "Is that possible?"

"A slim chance. I am more surprised that Lucius was not forthcoming, and Filius has been less than useful."

"So I guess Knockturn is your only avenue, then."

"I also approached some Masters on the Continent. Still waiting for replies."

"I see." Hermione leaned back in her chair, letting go of his desk almost reluctantly. She rubbed her hands together. "I'll write Colin and tell him that tonight, then. Maybe he'll back off."

"Caution him not to go after anyone, either. Informants in Knockturn are prone to vanishing at the slightest whiff of Auror."

She laughed. "I'll tell him. How are the cauldrons?"

Severus shrugged. "The trials are well. So far, the addition of the charms has not netted any noticeable effect in the brewing, though perhaps the efficacy of the final product will be improved. Once we have brewed sufficient test batches we can test the potions themselves."

"Sounds like a plan." Hermione leaned forward in the chair now, seeming a little...antsy. "Do you have a class between now and dinner, or just office hours?"

He tilted his head, nostrils flaring. "Mere office hours, where I will likely remain undisturbed. In my entire career, precisely ten students have ever bothered to use them..." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I was thinking that maybe we could adjourn to your rooms for a while and continue our conversation from yesterday."

Severus chuckled. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"Well, I was trying to be a bit subtle in case you had a portrait hidden behind the bookshelves that tends to eavesdrop. However, if you want me to be blunt...Severus, we have two hours until dinner and I wish to snog you silly."

"Interesting proposition." Severus leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and regarding her seriously. Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and waited. "Very well, come along."

With a victorious little grin, she jumped off her chair. He plucked the book gingerly from his desk—she was right, the information on the back _was_ legible, right down to the two old-fashioned-looking s's in the bottom of one corner—and led the way through a hidden corridor to his chambers. Not for the first time, Hermione appreciated that his office and laboratory and rooms were all connected.

"Just snog?" he asked.

She shrugged. "I have had an annoying morning, and I like kissing you. Where it goes from snogging is up to us."

"As you will." Severus dropped the book on his coffee table so it lay open, pages-down, and waved a hand, sealing the doors and Floo. He turned, his teaching robes settling gracefully around his feet as he shrugged out of them. Hermione watched him hungrily and nearly ripped a shoulder seam in her rush to get out of hers.

"Patience."

"Nope." Hermione tossed her robes over his easy chair, uncaring if they fell to the floor or missed the arm and fell into the fire. "Sorry, Severus. I hate being interrupted..."

He glowered at her. "Do stop that."

"Stop what?"

"The terrible attempt at dialogue."

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. Honestly, that man... "I am _attempting_ to seduce you."

Severus grimaced. "It's not working. All I hear are those blasted novels."

Her shoulders drooped. "Sorry."

"Don't be." He sat on the sofa and pulled her down to him by her arm. "Cease your prattle and kiss me."

Hermione laughed softly and brushed her lips over his cheek. "Prattle? Me?"

"You do tend to go on sometimes." He kissed her gently. "But I do rather like what happens when I kiss you."

"Oh?" Hermione kissed him again.

"Yes," he breathed, his lips ghosting over her cheek to her ear. "You stop talking. You stop thinking. You pant and writhe and kiss me as if I am the center of your universe."

"That's because you are," Hermione replied. She kissed his cheek, his fine hair tickling her nose. "You—oh..."

He nipped her earlobe and she sighed.

"Just like that." His voice was thick with smugness and she twisted, tugging on his hair to bring his mouth back to hers.

"Git," she told him fondly between kisses. He really was an exceptional kisser now, she mused. Intense, focused... If he learned kissing so quickly, what else would he be a quick study at?

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb feathering over her cheekbone, and his slow, hot, open-mouthed kisses were gentle and drugging.

Slowly, Hermione relaxed into the moment. Her tension and annoyance at the day, at her students, her classes...it all melted away. Certainly, she could have achieved the same peace by sitting and talking with him, with cups of tea and snide remarks... But this was somehow... _more_. More comforting. More intimate. Special.

They shifted on the sofa as they kissed until Hermione had managed to straddle his lap. She kissed him eagerly and ran her hands through the ends of his hair. It was a bit slick and oily, but she didn't care. After all, his long fingers got caught in her bushy mass as he tugged at it.

Everything about kissing Severus was a sensory experience. Buttons dug into her breasts, the wool scratchy against her exposed skin. Bony knees under her arse, the firmness of his chest...and the hot length at his groin.

With effort, she pulled back, panting lightly. She was drowning in her own heartbeat, in the exchange of breath. His mouth was intoxicating and her belly clenched with pure lust. Dear god, she wanted him... She wanted him so bloody much. Hermione licked her lips, and his eyes followed the motion almost covetously.

He tugged on the neck of her jumper, exposing the small purple bruise from yesterday. The hardness under her twitched.

She arched her neck back on a moan, giving him access to her throat as she rolled her hips. He nibbled hesitantly on her skin, his tongue dragging over her flesh as his hands ceased their movement. "Don't," she whimpered. "Don't hold back, Severus... I trust you. You're not going to manage to scare me off. I love you too much for that."

He let out a choked sound; restraint or a sob, she didn't know. All she did know was that she was being clutched too him with strong arms, his teeth sinking into her pulse. Heat fluttered through her veins, and she knew there would be another mark to glamour.

It was hunger, plain and simple, that swept her up and for the life of her she couldn't tell if it was sexual, emotional, or both.

Severus suckled at her skin and Hermione dug the fingers of one into his shoulders to maintain her balance. With her free hand she pulled fruitlessly at his cravat, the buttons of his coat.

"Off," she gasped. He mumbled something against her neck and pulled away. His pale fingers unfastened the cloth, deftly slipped buttons through their holes. Hermione grabbed the hem of her jumper and pulled it over her head, discarding it somewhere behind her. Her blouse was not fair behind.

Panting lightly, Severus wriggled free of his frock coat, leaving it crumpled gracelessly behind his back, and did the same to his shirt.

Her hands were halfway to his chest when he realised what he was smelling and grasped her wrists, preventing her from touching him. "Hermione. _Stop_."

She looked confused. "What? Why?" Her wrists twisted in his grip and he grimaced. Her voice sounded lost. "Severus?"

He brought his nose nearer to her hands. Yes. Damn it. How had he not caught on sooner? He had burned the letters on his desk, yes, but he had forgotten to cleanse the wood. His blood ran cold. Hermione didn't really want him, not now...She had been drugged and it was all his fault...

"Severus?" she asked again, sounding more herself. He made a distressed noise, trying to force the words past his crooked teeth.

"You...you've been drugged. This—I—this is not what you want. Get off." He tried to keep his tone gentle. Hermione looked panicked.

"No! Don't—Severus—this _is_ what I want. _You_ are what I want." She snatched her hands back.

"I can smell the bloody lust potion on you," he said quietly. She could nearly see his heart breaking, and it was killing her. Damn it, why couldn't this be easy? Just once, something with Severus Snape should be easy. Just bloody once.

"So give me the antidote," Hermione urged. She didn't doubt that she'd been dosed. It certainly made sense, given how quickly she went from 'hi' to 'let's snog' to 'ooh, yes, take your clothes off'. But snogging and getting him naked were frequently on her mind. Carefully, she scooted until she could stand as he held her wrists. He released her, the muscle at his jaw jumping. "Any antidote for anything you want, Severus. I'll take it."

When he remained seated, she moved to his armchair and sat demurely, though she ached to be close to him again, to run her tongue down... _Get a grip,_ she told herself. _Antidote and reassure him first, then jump him._

Severus rose and pulled his shirt back on. Stiffly, he did up the buttons, though to her relief did not put on his frock coat. "I should have something," he said. She could hear the distance in his voice and she grew even more determined to put this to rights even if she had to tie him to his bed to get him to believe she truly desired him. "Wait here."

Hermione fidgeted as he left the room, watching his arse. Merlin, he was sexy.

* * *

Severus retched bile again into his sink, his hands shaking. No, no, no, _no_. It was ruined. Everything was ruined. Damn those books, damn his students, and damn whatever horrible curse dangled over his head determined to ruin every fucking good thing in his life.

She was drugged, had bloody touched his desk while staring at and talking to him. And he had nearly...

He took deep breaths through his nose and rinsed his mouth. Long, slow breaths. Counting the seconds, he tried to focus, to retreat behind the safety of familiar Occlumency walls. He managed it, and was thankful that at least he wasn't spying any longer. He would be dead on the spot.

Once certain that his breath was no longer odious, he looked at his reflection. Unhappy. Haggard. Pinched. Scowling. He stared into his own eyes, searching for the tiny battered spark of hope that he had had since she had lost her temper and kissed him.

And he couldn't find it. Was it gone? Or had he pushed that back behind his shields rather than his despair?

He told himself rather desperately that Hermione loved him, cared for him. She had said it. He saw it in her mind when she smiled at him, her thoughts unguarded now. He couldn't bring himself to say the words back; he wanted to, _needed_ to, as if the words were a spell to bind her to him, but they would not pass the lump in his throat.

Severus frowned at himself in the mirror and wrenched it open to reveal the cluttered shelves behind it. It didn't take him long to find the bottles he sought, and he checked the expiry dates out of reflex more than anything else.

He returned to his sitting room to find Hermione where he had left her, just as topless as he had left her, and he thought that the beige lace bra was rather fetching on her. Her lips parted as if to speak and he raised a hand.

"I have two antidotes I wish for you to take," he said. Was that a quaver in his voice? "One is for the potion you were dosed with by my desk, the other is a more...general antidote for anything you may have been given within the past few months."

She looked hurt but nodded understandingly, and used a strong Cleansing Charm on her hands to rid herself of any contact with the lust potion.

"I would rather sit in silence once you have taken them," Severus continued. "Their effect should be within five minutes. If after that time, you wish to continue, we shall. If you wish to go...I will neither stop you nor hold it against you."

Hermione nodded, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

He Levitated the vials to her and she downed them both quickly with a grimace.

Severus seated himself on the sofa once more. The silence was unbearable, but it was better than listening to her protestations. He had to know. He needed to know, and she understood. She was Hermione, after all.

The clock above the mantle ticked quietly, the low fire left burning on the hearth occasionally crackled or popped, and they both watched the time go by or stared at the upside-down smut book as if desiring to burn the publisher's address and those strange little s' as well as the detailed (yet tasteful) drawing of Potter being photographed into their brains.

Severus tensed as the minute hand indicated that the fifth minute had been reached. Hermione turned to him.

"Severus, I..." she hesitated and his heart cracked. "...I don't want to go."


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note** : Okay, yes, I am posting this WAY early. This is the final chapter, and I wanted to post it before I left town. I've set my Etsy shop to vacation mode, as I will be out of town to attend my grandmother's funeral. (She passed a few months ago and was cremated, and the family scheduled the funeral so that everyone could attend.)

Sorry about the cliffhanger last chapter. I know, I know. You all really really wanted the smut. So do I. So do they. But I had an opportunity to be a teeny bit nerdy and I had to do it...Also, I really liked the thought of giving this its own place so I could say my usual...

This chapter contains consensual sex between two people, and graphic descriptions of it. If you are offended by such matter I have no idea why you're here, but look for the next line break if you wish to skip the smutty bits. If you are underage, you probably shouldn't read it. However, I am not your parent. Also, fanfiction is way better than that 50 Shades crap. Usually. 

* * *

**Chapter 11**

 _"I don't want to go."_

If his heart had cracked before her words, it was only so now it could burst with happiness and sheer relief. She wanted him—truly _him_ , all of him, she _loved_ him.

Severus was uncertain who had left their seat first, but they met in the middle of his sitting room, kissing and embracing as if the other was air.

"You daft man," Hermione chided between kisses. "Did you really think—"

"Shush," he muttered, tugging futilely at the clasp of her bra. He was too embarrassed to admit that he had, indeed, been too bloody insecure.

Hermione laughed breathlessly, pulling away to shove him backwards. "Bedroom, now. And clothes off."

Severus stumbled over his feet in his haste to simultaneously hurry and undress, but Hermione's laughter was not the mocking sort. She wriggled out of her bra, tossing it to the side. Severus found his lips curling into a smile as she struggled out of her knickers as well.

Her arse was magnificent.

Upon reaching his bed, Hermione turned with a smile. Her hair was wild, her eyes dark with passion and her nipples—lovely, perky little things—drew his gaze.

"Oh," he said, feeling quite stunned. His hands froze on the final buttons of his shirt. "You..."

"Thank you. Now strip," Hermione said, clearly pleased with his reaction to her beautiful, lithe form. "I want to finally see you."

She sat on the edge of his bed and he hastily shed his clothing. His shirt dropped to the ground, his trousers followed. Hermione's teeth sank into her lower lip. The man was intoxicating to watch. His movements were hurried, garters undone, socks discarded, and he was so...artless about the whole thing. Not trying to tease her or remain clothed and shy. There was something utterly adorable about his self-conscious hurry to be with her. Finally, Severus discarded his pants and stood unsurely before her, giving her a moment to admire all of him.

He was beautiful, in his own way. Oh, he would never be handsome to most, she wagered, but he was definitely handsome to her. Painfully thin, scarred, and pale with dark hair on his arms, legs, and chest... but perfect. She decided right then and there that she adored his body. Hermione was especially pleased with the trail form his belly to his semi-hard cock, and the little red bloom she had left on his collarbone. Perfect. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect.

Unable to bring herself to speak, she patted the bed next to her. Severus crossed to her. In the candlelight of his rooms, her skin was turned to a soft gold. She was all sweet, kissable curves and mad hair and Merlin but he loved her.

The passion that had flared in his sitting room had banked now to a slow burn as they met in a kiss and she tugged him onto the bed. It was a graceless thing, crawling over her. Too many limbs, the bed too small, and not enough of her body against his.

Severus kissed her slowly, firmly, his hands fluttering about her shoulders, her sides, her arms, unsure where to start. The unfamiliar freedom of choice was his, and anticipation made him shake. Hermione held no such reservations, grasping his hands and taking them directly to her breasts.

Hermione sighed happily as his long fingers closed around her breasts. His hands were strong and calloused and she arched into his touch. She kissed him as he touched her, pinching and rolling her nipples in his fingers in a way that left her writhing under him. While he was definitely exploratory in his ministrations, as soon as he found one that made her respond he kept at it.

She couldn't wait to go further.

How many nights had she dreamt of Severus over her? Inside her? How long had she lusted after him, only for it to blossom into true and deep love?

Too long. Far too long.

Severus left her mouth, dipping his head to her neck. His breath was coming in little gasps between kisses to her skin. His hands trembled when they left her supple flesh, so he left them there, exploring the sounds and movements he could elicit from her. She was stunning. No amount of research or fantasies could have prepared him for the scent of her, the texture of her skin and aureola, or the soft tang of sweat.

It was beautiful.

And as he had told her before, he did love to make her thoughts cease. To render her speechless or unable to form words lacking in multiple syllables. It was humbling and beautiful and he wanted to do _more_.

Hermione's hands wandered over his shoulderblades and down his strong arms. She could feel the flush spreading up her cheeks. This was so much better than fantasy. She loved the rasp of his body hair against her, the tickle of his long locks brushing over her skin, the planes of his lean form pressing her into the mattress...

"More," Hermione whispered, pushing his head towards her breasts. "Please, Severus..."

His mouth closed around her nipple and her eyes fell shut as he went from tentative to hungry. She was gone, swept up in passion and hunger. She felt _claimed_ as he suckled and nipped and she moaned. Her nails raked his arms and he groaned.

The sound ripped through his chest at the kiss of pain and Severus suckled harder. Hermione arched and gasped and made delicious little noises. He learned quickly that she liked them sucked hard, the points to be flicked with his tongue. A lifetime of wanting, of longing to be wanted, turned his blood to molten sludge. He wanted to burn, yes, but to burn slowly, to savour each sound and sensation.

Her hands tugged at his hair, pushed at his shoulders, and he was grateful his mouth was occupied so he didn't ruin the moment by speaking. Merlin knew he would say something wrong...

Hermione twisted under his weight, wriggling until he was between her legs rather than entwined with them. She gave a happy sigh: this was so much better than her own fingers or any of her toys so far. Now if only she could get him to... "Lower," she urged. "Please..."

Severus levered himself up, bringing his mouth from her breasts to her lips. He slid his hand down her belly, trepidation curling through his stomach. What if he did it wrong?

"Show me," he urged between kisses. "I want to make you come. Show me what you do in bed alone, thinking of me."

She gave a breathless little laugh, spreading her legs wide. Severus shifted for a better look. His ill-fated view of her last time had been seared on his memory, yes, but she was truly lovely. The dark little curls, the dampness—for him, it was all for him—and the sweet pink center of her.

Her hand slid to his, guiding him, and she moved their combined fingers, showing him where and how she wanted to be touched. He was stunning to her, in that moment, with his lips parted and swollen from kisses, his cheeks pink. It was beautiful and intimate and as she slid their fingers between her labia, slicking them, then back up to rub, a thought struck her. Something she desperately wanted in that moment.

"Talk to me," Hermione said, rubbing his fingers over her clit in small circles.

Severus looked up at her, his eyes hooded and dark. "About?"

"Anything. Your voice is gorgeous."

He ducked his head, bashful. His speed increased and she arched, her hand leaving his to reach awkwardly down for his cock. Severus inhaled sharply as her hand closed around the hard, warm length. He looked at her again, he licked his lips, and then...it was as if a dam broke inside him.

"You are gorgeous," he said, bucking into her hand. "I saw everything in your room that day, you know. I was so overwhelmed that I passed out."

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. She released his cock to cover her face with her hands. "How mortifying."

"Only in that I couldn't bring myself to tell you," Severus replied. He rubbed her clit faster and she let out a whimper. "I wanted you then, Hermione, and I want you now."

"I want you, too," she whispered. She was flushed from cheeks to breasts and breathing heavily. Her legs quivered as he circled her clit faster. "I have to tell you again, and you had—oh!—better believe me...I love you, I love you, oh, _fuck_..."

Severus watched her, chest tight with anticipation. Was she actually going to come?

"In," Hermione begged with a whine. "In and rub, please..."

Breathing heavily, his cock aching, he slid a finger into her with a low moan. She was so...oh, Merlin. She was so wet, so tight, so _perfect_. He tried to rub her clit with his thumb while following her wriggling hips as she attempted to direct him.

"No, higher...Oh god, right there, don't stop...don't stop, oh _please_ , oh— _Severus_!" She cried out and her body clamped down on his fingers, rippling and pulsing. He watched her, enthralled, slowing his movements to gentle motions.

Hermione flopped her arms bonelessly to his bed, panting for air. After several deep breaths, she looked up at him with a smile. "Sorry."

He arched a brow. Sorry? What the hell did she have to be sorry for?

"I'm okay," she whispered. Hermione drew her legs up around his hips and reached for his cock once more. It was a lovely cock, too, she thought. Thick and hard where it jutted from the nest of crisp black curls. "Still okay?"

Severus flushed. "Yes," he replied hoarsely.

Together, they guided him into place and he slid home with a guttural moan of pleasure.

"Oh Merlin," he gasped. Hermione felt _amazing_ around him. She pulled him down to his elbows, her hips gyrating.

"Oh fuck," Severus muttered. It was incredible. He hadn't expected this—! His breath left him in a hiss as he began to move, finding a rhythm.

How many nights had he dreamt about her, like this? How long had he been in love with her, only to find her sexy and attractive as well?

Too long. Far too long.

She was so fucking beautiful. So fucking smart. Clever and determined and brave and his heart thudded painfully in his chest. He wanted so much more than just being together. He wanted to marry her, to spend every night with her, to argue with her, to fuck her, to make love to her, to make a family with her... He loved her, clear down to his bones. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her...

Hermione gasped under him. Her brain may shut down during sex, but Severus seemed to lose control of his tongue. She doubted he knew what he was saying, because it came out rushed and breathless and passionate and she felt like crying. He loved her. Truly loved her, wanted so very very much to make a life with her.

Just the same as she wanted but had been too shy to say for fear of scaring him off.

She clung to him as pleasure built for her, his emotions pouring forth in words even as her nails scored his back.

He arched above her with a final thrust, the cords in his neck standing out, gasping as his cock twitched inside of her. Hermione kissed his shoulder, his neck, holding him close as they fought for breath.

"I love you," she murmured.

Severus gave a happy sigh and nuzzled her check before brushing his lips over hers.

* * *

Hermione lay curled into his side, her hand on his belly, and Severus toyed absently with her fingers, enjoying the quiet intimacy. He sighed, feeling quite...happy. And dying for a cold soda.

"It's weird, you know," Hermione said absently. He tilted his head to an uncomfortable angle. She met his gaze. "The book, I mean. Those weird little old-fashioned s's." Her tone turned teasing. "You're not behind it, are you?"

Severus scowled. "You don't expect me to dignify that with a reply, do you?"

She laughed. "I know. It's just silly. It's just weird. Neither Filius or Lucius have been any help, and everything seems to be coming to a head."

"Not to mention that Draco was no help, either. And for a man keeping his father in expensive parchment you'd think he would keep some for his own use. I'm almost disappointed."

Hermione frowned, sitting up. Severus tried to tug her back down but she was clearly done with the post-coital moment. "Lucius is using expensive parchment? Wasn't he rendered mostly broke after the war?"

"He _was_ broke," Severus corrected. "Completely. Hence why I was bribing him with a rather nice bottle of cognac."

"Can I see?"

Severus flicked a hand. _Accio_. All of the parchments he had dealing with the smut came zooming into his bedroom. He flicked his wrist again, Summoning the latest book she had brought. If they were going to ruin the moment with those atrocious novels, he may as well take a proper look at the bloody thing.

Hermione tugged the sheet up to cover her breasts almost absently as she looked over the various papers. Severus sat up, his scant half of the sheet pooling at his waist. He scratched at his arm and flipped through the first few pages of the book.

It was certainly better written than the others, and Hermione had been correct in saying that the quality led one to the belief that it was one of the first and originals. However, the more he read... well, the tale was more romantically-geared towards Potter, between the Boy Who Lived To Inspire Tripe and a nameless woman. And yet...Severus doubted that the novel had been written by a woman.

Hermione fingered the parchment from Lucius. "I think...Severus, I think his parchment's been duplicated."

"Oh?" One brow arched. "And you know that how?"

She gave him a wry grin. "You only have to be nearly buried alive under burning and duplicating items to get the feel for it. The spell has a very clear feel to me."

"And no quality is lost?"

"On the parchment? No. But it's possible he started with an entire pack. He would have to duplicate many, many pages before you see the wear and tear we're seeing on the novels, I think."

"Another mystery, then. Lucius is terrible at charms," Severus told her. "He has quite the head for business, and raw power for curses and hexes, but basic charms and transfiguration spells never stuck with him past exams."

She hmm'd, putting the letter aside to look over her equations from the tracking charm. Severus had made his own computations and she squinted at his cramped, spiky numbers. "Severus? Is this a four or a nine?"

"Four."

"Thanks." It looked like he concurred with her results, and the papers had indeed come back to the school.

Severus finished flipping through the book and turned it over to look at the back. The address was incredibly clear. He brought the book closer to peer at the mark. Old-fashioned S's, they were a great deal like...but...

Certain pieces clicked into place and he got out of bed.

"Severus?"

Uncaring of his nudity, he padded into the other room. Now where had he put it? He had borrowed it last month... Severus found the thin book he was looking for, under three issues of Potions Quarterly—it was entirely possible that he had, in fact, borrowed the reference last year—and tugged it free. Upon opening the front cover, he saw the same damn mark.

He swore loudly and stomped over to his desk, retrieving a can of soda from the back drawer. It opened with a hiss and he downed it.

"Severus?" Hermione appeared in the doorway, wrapped in his sheet. He glowered at her.

"I believe that there is more than one perpetrator," he ground out.

"I think I know one," she said grimly, holding up the book he had discarded. "This...sounds frighteningly like Colin Creevey talking to Harry. Nearly verbatim."

"It would appear that there are two more, then," Severus replied. "Those are not old-fashioned s's on the back. They are, in fact, dual F's. As in 'Filius Fucking Flitwick'."

Hermione scowled. "So let me guess, Malfoy's the third."

"Lucius, yes. I would wager that he provided contacts and the original financial backing. I would also assume that he is blackmailing the other two, or they would have given him up long ago and the income from two shares would not be coming to Hogwarts."

She looked at him, her arms crossed. "So...now what?"

He gave her an evil look. "Now, Hermione, we tell Minerva."

"Oh." Her lips twitched. "Oh, dear."

"Oh yes."

* * *

Minerva tapped her pursed lips with one finger. "These are highly disturbing accusations."

"We are fairly certain," Severus said. He again indicated the book's mark. The headmistress sighed.

"This puts us in a rather...uncomfortable position as a school."

"I am aware. I do not want to ruin Filius's life. However, I do want you to distract him for at least half an hour."

She sighed and looked at Hermione, who grinned. "Don't worry," she said. "We'll get this sorted, Minerva."

* * *

"Hi Colin," Hermione said.

The Auror jumped, falling out of his chair. "H-h-h-h-Hermione! Hi!"

"Got a minute?" she asked, taking the seat across from him.

"Er, yeah, actually. Did you, um, find something on the case?"

"Oh, I think so." Hermione pulled 'Harry Potter and the Philanthropic Photoshoot' out of her handbag and put it on his desk. "We think this is one of the originals."

Colin blushed furiously. "It, er, is the original. In my research, I mean," he added hastily. "I've um, been looking into it."

"So how is it, working with Harry?" It was too easy, Hermione thought as she changed topics. He was so scared.

"It's brilliant! He's a really good Auror," Colin gushed. "I'm really lucky to be assigned to him as his partner. Harry's amazing to work with. Really intuitive. I can't imagine not being his partner."

"Which is why you haven't come forward and have been burying my complaint," Hermione said.

Colin gaped. "Well, I, er...I mean, what?"

She gave him a hard look. "You know what. I don't really want to do this, Colin, but you do remember the DA parchment?"

He paled.

Really, Hermione felt sorry for him as he began to spill everything.

* * *

Filius's wards were laughably easy, Severus thought, rifling through the desk in hidden room of Filius's personal chambers.

There were several letters, and as Severus had thought, Lucius had blackmailed the half-goblin and Creevey. Better, the charms professor was meticulously organised, keeping all of the stories to maintain the linked copying charm. Severus happily went about changing the originals with the spells Hermione had devised.

He felt just slightly bad about the readers, who would find their precious stories horribly, horribly changed.

After all, trolls weren't terribly attractive.

* * *

"How did it go?" Hermione asked, opening the door to his chambers.

"You could hear the cries of anguish from the Astronomy Tower," Severus replied, looking up from his publication. "The paintings have intimated that there is to be an impromptu bonfire this evening. And Creevey?"

"Taken care of, on pain of losing Harry as his partner... and maybe a threat or two."

"What did you do?"

"I may have pretended that I hexed him."

"And did you?"

"No, of course not."

"Pity," Severus said. "Would serve him right."

She swatted lightly at his arm. "No, serving him right is letting him live in complete terror over whatever mystery curse I cast activating.

"Clever."

"I thought so." She kissed the top of his head. "So that just leaves Lucius."

"Not going to be a problem."

"No?"

"No, he used the same linking charm on his precious parchment. Someone may have Vanished the original pack, which Filius had kept in his office."

"Well, that stops him from writing anyone on inferior parchment," she said wryly. "What about the rest of it?"

"If you'll recall, Slytherins do not like being caught." Severus sounded terribly smug. "Expect a large deposit to your Gringotts account in the coming week."

"And it's all going to stop?"

"Doubtful—there are still the toys, though they will stop being based on us. And I imagine he will still publish books as long as the people contained therein do not bear the names of actual people. I also suggested an editor. He'll consider it." Severus paused. "I need another bottle of cognac to send him. Would you care to accompany me to London this weekend?"

Hermione grinned. "Why, Severus Snape, are you asking me on a date?"

To her delight, he blushed. "Possibly."

"Then I accept."

She leaned in and gave him a kiss before tugging him out of his chair and to the bedroom.

* * *

Minerva sighed heavily and looked at the blond in the fire. "Well, we knew it was not going to last forever."

"True," Lucius replied. His tone was tragic. "Never fear, Headmistress. They hadn't caught on about the other line. Your school will still have its income."

"Good," she said. "Then no one will have to know about you and the—"

The fire flared and Lucius ended the call before she could finish her sentence. Minerva chuckled and made a mark in the budgeting ledger. Hogwarts was better funded than it had ever been before.

* * *

 _And there we go, that's the end. Thank you for reading this silly little fic, and I do hope that you enjoyed the tale! You are all such wonderful readers and reviewers. Much love to you!_


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